


A Circumstance of Tolerable Similarity

by MorganAW



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Ambiguous Fandom, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV, Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 09:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganAW/pseuds/MorganAW
Summary: Thirty- seven years after she finally married the love of her Life, a 64 year old Lady Anne Wentworth (nee Elliot) observes a curious interaction at the Great Exhibition in London. When she sees Margaret Hale and John Thornton playing through the same melodrama that she and her husband acted out so many years ago, she feels she must intervene.





	1. The Great Exhibition

**Author's Note:**

> **Licensing Note** Based on Characters and story lines from _Persuasion_ by Jane Austen and _North and South_ by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, with influences from the BBC miniseries of _North and South_. Text from Jane Austen is in  purple. Text from Elizabeth Gaskell is in blue. Text from the miniseries is in green. The tense, pronouns, or wording of these quotes may be slightly modified to fit the scene. All original content and plot for More Justified in Acting is released under a [Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/) license by Morgan A. Wyndham. I've also published this on the Derbyshire Writer's Guild as [MorganA](https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/profile.php?5,3114) and fanfic.net as [MorganAW.](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9748539/)
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's Note:** In _Persuasion,_ Sir. Walter references an actual noble family with the surname Wentworth, so "Lord Wentworth" was already someone's else's title. But I'm sticking with Lord Wentworth for the name recognition with the book (I don't want to strip away all of the names we know and love). Please forgive this small break from canon.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** In Chapters 13 and 14 there are brief references to domestic violence in a minor character relationship. There is nothing explicit, and this content is only a few sentences of the story total.

_London, October 12, 1851_

Lady Anne Wentworth allowed her eyes to wander the impressive displays of modern machinery that surrounded her as she and Frederick listened to to a presentation given by a Mr. Thornton, cotton manufacturer. He was outlining the new machinery he had installed in his mill and the benefits to both the health of his workers and productivity and output. Her eyes fell on an elegant young woman as she wandered into the periphery of their group. The intent look the young woman settled on Mr. Thornton tugged at forgotten corners of Anne's heart. She knew that look. She was certain she had worn just such a look of admiration, love, desperation, and regret frequently in the fall of 1814. The talk shifted to the recent strike in Milton and Anne noted the moment that Mr. Thornton espied the young woman. His face took on an altogether different but still sadly familiar expression: prideful loathing with an undercurrent of pain and regret. His tone turned bitter and he spat out toward the young woman. “Miss Hale here knows the depths we men in Milton have fallen to. How we masters only strive to grind workers into the ground.” The comment was undoubtedly full of anger, hurt, and pride and meant to injure Miss Hale on a deeply personal level.

The arrow struck home as Miss Hale briefly paled before narrowing her eyes and responding. “I certainly do not think that, as Mr. Thornton could tell you if he would know me at all!” Miss Hale spun around to make a hasty retreat.

Mr. Thornton's face showed a moment's sorrow at his hastily spoken insult and he hurried after her, hovering close to her as he said, “I have presumed to know you once before and have been mistaken.” The scene was so heartbreakingly familiar to Anne and she fancied she could read the events of the past and the sentiments of the present from just this short interaction. He had loved her. She had refused him. He was angry. She now repented and was suffocating under the pain of a seemingly unrequited love. Anne also knew by the violence of his anger and the warmth of his gaze that he loved her still, if he would but admit it to himself. She shared a glance with Frederick to see if he drew the same parallels as she had, but he was distracted in conversation with Mr. Lattimer. 

Two groups converged on the pair, ending their tete-a-tete, even though Mr. Thornton did not diminish the space between them. Of Mr. Thornton's party, a young blond woman – presumably his sister – tittered and praised Miss Lattimer, who in turn raked Mr. Thornton with a proprietary gaze while shooting Miss Hale haughty looks. Most of Miss Hale's party remained detached, casting interested glances at the group. Anne recognized a Mrs. Shaw – an insipid woman with whom she shared a slight acquaintance – cast a disdainful eye over Mr. Thornton. One of the gentlemen of Miss Hale's party approached and Miss Hale unguardedly called him Henry, but then seemed to shiver away from properly introducing him. Henry clearly taunted Mr. Thornton with his intimacy with the young lady and dismissed his career as a tradesman by suggesting his brother's desire to “dabble in cotton.” In turn Mr. Thornton's eyes took on a hard glint of jealousy and pain as he cynically rebuked Henry. In addition to whatever misunderstandings existed between the principal couple, there was some level of opposition on both sides from their family and friends.

“I must go. You may enjoy the machinery like an exhibit in the zoo. I have to go and live with it. I must get back to Milton today,” Mr. Thornton growled.

“Give our regards to the Hales. You must tell them how the London break is suiting Miss Hale. Don't you think, Thornton?” Sneered the haughty young Henry, intentionally baiting Mr. Thornton, “Doesn't Miss Hale look well?” Miss Hale pierced the young gentleman with a quelling look, but as Mr. Thornton was occupied in glaring down his rival, he missed her reaction entirely.

“Good day.” Mr. Thornton said with resigned pride as he turned away.

“Tell my mother I will be home soon with so much to tell her.” Miss Hale's desperate plea tugged at Anne's heart. Mr. Thornton paused to listen, but did not even turn to acknowledge her request. This would never do. Anne moved quickly to intercede.

“Mr. Thornton, it is a shame you must be off so soon.” Mr. Thornton started slightly at being addressed as if he had forgotten her presence – a common occurrence as Anne had a tendency of fading into the background to observe until she could be of use. “I had hoped to learn more about your efforts to modernize your mill and improve conditions.” She could see his impatience to be away, and added an inducement she knew he would not be able to ignore. “Mr. Lattimer had told us you were looking for investors.” Frederick eyed her cautiously, but at her reassuring glance he nodded and waited for her to continue. “If you could delay your departure until tomorrow, we would be delighted to discuss the matter over dinner at Wentworth house.”

~~~

John Thornton was torn. He had been introduced to Sir Frederick Wentworth and his wife as potential investors, but had assumed that they would lose interest just as quickly as all the others he had met with that weary day. He knew that he could scarcely afford to turn away any potential investors for the mill, but he was fighting the urgent need to flee from Miss Hale's earnest expression and Mr. Lennox's proprietary manner towards her. Fanny interrupted his reverie with a frustrated, “Oh John, don't be such a stick in the mud! A dinner in London at the home of a baron! We cannot refuse!” Crass as her outburst was, he knew she was correct.

He bowed slightly and replied, “thank you Lady Wentworth, we would be honored.” 

His heart dropped as Lady Wentworth then turned and said sweetly to Miss Hale's aunt – who had remained on the fringes of their group – “Mrs. Shaw, would you care to join us? As we are all acquainted and the young gentlemen have shown an interest in cotton manufacturing,” – John scoffed, as if their interest in cotton was any more than a fleeting frivolous thought – “it shall be an enlightening experience for us all.” His eyes shifted of their own will to Margaret's face, which was suddenly pale and drawn. He silently prayed for Mrs. Shaw to decline. Fashionable people, of course, always had dinner plans.

~~~

Mrs. Shaw looked at Margaret's worried expression. She did not like to promote any further link between her niece's reputation and the tarnish of Milton. However, one simply did not turn down a dinner invitation by the wife of a baron without reason. It had been a long time since her youth as a ward of Sir John Beresford, and she was loathe to admit that her circle of friends was no longer as exalted as it used to be. Although they had some rather modern notions about the roles of the nobility, the Wentworths were undoubtedly good ton and a worthy social connection to cultivate. “We would be delighted Lady Wentworth!” Margaret started and glanced uneasily at Mr. Thornton. _Poor dear. I would not like to acknowledge the connection either, but we cannot help it!_

~~~

Before the groups parted, the remaining introductions were made and it was decided that the party consisting of Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth, Mr. and Miss Thornton, Mr. and Miss Lattimer, Aunt Shaw, Margaret, Captain and Mrs. Lennox, and Mr. Lennox would all meet again that evening. Margaret's mind boggled somewhat at Lady Wentworth's ability to host an impromptu dinner for eleven with mere hours of time to prepare. They must be rather wealthy. She silently hoped that they would invest in Marlborough Mills, Mr. Thornton deserved success and his employees deserved stability. Margaret was already searching her mind for a way to refuse the invitation without giving offense, but could find no immediate means of release. 


	2. Reflections

As they left the Crystal Palace and returned home to alert the staff of their impending visitors, Frederick Wentworth contemplated his wife's actions. Anne rarely put herself at the center of attention like that unless it was to the benefit of some unfortunate soul. He had detected no impending danger to those present, so he was at a loss. “Would you care to fill me in, my dear? I too was intrigued by Thornton's modern theories on production, yet hardly enough to merit a dinner party and an investment.”

“Gladly Frederick, do you remember the fall of 1814?” He grimaced at the comedy of errors and blunders that accompanied their reunion after eight long years of separation.

“I try not to, it was not a happy time.”

“No, it was not. And yet, I just saw it playing out again before my own eyes. The admiration and sorrow in Miss Hale's eyes, the anger and hurt in Mr. Thornton's eyes, and the cool disdain and matchmaking schemes of their families and friends. It was all so achingly familiar.”

His eyes spoke a silent apology to Anne for his abominable behavior at that time – an apology that he had made many times in so many ways, and yet he could never absolve himself of the guilt. Looking back on their recent encounter, he had to admit that he hadn't picked up on this drama at all, “I believe you and I attended to different conversations.”

“Indeed, you listened to the speech whereas I was focused on the silences.” She paused in contemplation then continued, “I believe I once made you a promise that I certainly never should, in any circumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice to a young lady in need as I received from Lady Russel in the year six. In nearly forty years, I have never had the opportunity to attend to that promise, I believe I must now before anything drastic occurs to ruin those young people's happiness forever.” 

Frederick cupped her face tenderly and replied, “that's my Anne, always sacrificing for the good of those in need. How do you propose we accomplish this feat?”

“I am not yet sure, though I expect that a detailed account of our own history might suffice – we can lead by example.” Anne fell silent in a moment's reverie as she though back on their memories. After a minute her face took on a determined look. She was no doubt mentally calculating the necessary preparations for their unexpected guests. As soon as he had handed her out of the carriage in front of their London townhouse she began giving gentle orders to the household staff – a benevolent captain to her own tightly run crew of faithful retainers. 

As he retreated to his study to flee the uproar of last minute preparations, he contemplated their situation. It would no doubt come as a shock to _some_ of their guests to find that the wife of a baron would spend the whole of the afternoon in the kitchens helping relieve her staff of the unexpected hassle, but a great captain always shared the burdens with their crew. Even after all of these years, she continued to amaze him with her sweet temper, obliging nature, quick mind, and resourcefulness.

He had been raised to the rank of baron for his heroic role in the battle of Navarino in 1827. The title meant little to him, far less than his elevation to Admiral had in 1818. Yet, for all of his heroism in the battle and indifference to the pretensions of nobility, he had accepted the honors for Anne's sake. Her role had been nearly as crucial in the aftermath as his had been during battle. While many women would shrink from the horrors of war, his Anne had forged into the carnage and come to the aid of the wounded. She tirelessly nursed injured men from both sides of the conflict and bolstered their spirits when all was pain and despair. She deserved the title as much for her own heroism as he did. 

More importantly, the title restored her, elevated her even, from the role she was born to. While rank had never held much weight with Anne personally, it was paramount to her father and her friend Lady Russel. Her father, Sir Walter Elliot, revered the baronetage as most patriarchs revered the family bible. In spite of his earlier disdain for the navy as: “being the means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of,” Frederick was quite sure that Sir Walter had never treated Anne with half so much tenderness, pride, and deference as he had the day he had proudly amended the Elliot entry in that prodigious tome to reflect her new title. Sadly, his health had begun to fade by that time, and he had unfortunately passed before the new edition of Debretts was printed which included the new Wentworth title. 

Frederick was still uncomfortable with the useless deference the title attracted from members of society. He had once been a poor orphan embarking on his first voyage in the Navy. He had once been a young man in love with little to recommend him beyond his charm and potential. The world had disdained and mocked him then, and yet now they bowed and scraped. He was certain that Mrs. Shaw's acceptance of Anne's invitation had more to do with their title than their company. Although he had not been so aware of the undercurrent of the conversation as his observant and empathetic wife, he had noted Mrs. Shaw's disdain for Mr. Thornton and the emphasis she placed on _Lady_ Wentworth as she accepted. He fancied he saw a resemblance between Mrs. Shaw and Lady Russel in their rigid ideas of propriety, suitability, and hauteur yet lacking much of the keen intellect that Lady Russel displayed in other areas. If Anne was correct in her assumptions – as he was sure she was – he could see that lady endeavoring to separate her niece from a worthy man because he was in trade.

~~~

The afternoon at Harley street passed in nearly as much uproar, though far less productivity, as at Wentworth House. It seemed that while they had been out, Edith's son Sholto had developed a mild fever. The poor little lad was irritable and uncomfortable and for some time occupied all three ladies attention. It was soon discovered, however, that Margaret's serene nature was best suited to soothe and calm the child in comparison to his mother's anxious petting and grandmother's nervous dismay. Margaret finally convinced them to leave the poor boy to her care as they went to fret over their attire for the evening. For a time, Margaret had hopes that she could cry off of her dinner engagement to care for the boy. After all, a dinner that included Mr. Thornton, Henry Lennox, Aunt Shaw, and Anne Lattimer would be extremely uncomfortable for Margaret.

Unfortunately, – or rather fortunately if Margaret would get past her own worries and think of her poor exhausted patient – Margaret had finally gotten the child to sleep just before Edith returned to the nursery. She was already resplendent in her evening wear and informed Margaret that she had sent her ladies maid to help her dress. The child was asleep and there was little Margaret could do for a sleeping sick child that his nurse could not likewise accomplish. She therefore had little choice but to go dress for the evening.


	3. A Proper Model

Edith and Aunt Shaw had sighed disparagingly over the simplicity of Margaret's gown when she descended – what will _Lady_ Wentworth say! – but as Margaret had been delayed while tending to the child and she had only packed a limited selection of gowns for this short trip there was nothing to be done. As they were shown into the Wentworth's comfortably elegant parlor – the last of the party to arrive – Margaret smiled to herself at Lady Wentworth's equally simple gown. Her ladyship apparently noticed Aunt Shaw's critical eye and preemptively explained, “I do apologize for my haggard appearance, but I found I could not put my kitchen staff through the exertions of a last minute dinner party without aid and was therefore delayed in dressing.”

“Are you presently understaffed Lady Wentworth?” Asked Aunt Shaw incredulously.

“Oh no, but I find I cannot be so selfish as to add additional strain on their usual resources on a whim of my own without lending what help I can.” Aunt Shaw gave a disapproving look but had better breeding than to criticize a member of the peerage on her household affairs. Of the younger ladies, Edith, Miss Thornton, and Miss Lattimer had brows creased with confusion as if such an action had never occurred to them. Margaret merely smiled and thought back to a time when she spent a day starching linens so that Dixon would have time to prepare tea for Mr. Thornton. While such an afternoon of labor clearly diminished Lady Wentworth's stature in her Aunt and cousin's eyes, Margaret found herself liking her the better for it.

~~~

John Thornton sat uneasily in the lavish London parlor. He was out of his element mixing with nobility. Fanny sat beside him on the settee preening like a peacock. She was engaged in a lively conversation with Lady Wentworth and Ann Lattimer about music. She would occasionally cast none-too-subtle hints in his direction about her desire to attend a concert in London while they were here. He knew that she wanted to see and experience more of London, but he had obligations back in Milton that needed attending. He was not a gentleman of leisure, free to fritt about town on a whim. At the moment, Lord Wentworth was engaged in a conversation with Mr. Lattimer about the ethics of empire. He wished to join their conversation, maybe even apply some of the philosophical insights he'd gained from his sessions with Mr. Hale. But in the understated elegance of this room he felt nothing more than a great rough fellow, with not a grace or a refinement about him and his courage to engage in polite conversation failed him.

As if to lend validity to these insecurities, Mr. Henry Lennox arrived and after greeting his hosts latched on to John. The man had obviously noted his partiality toward Miss Hale that morning and intended only to highlight the disparity between them. He recalled a former conversation with Miss Hale about the difference between a _gentleman_ and a _true man_ and felt the weight of Miss Hale's disapprobation encompassed in Henry Lennox's speech. He launched into a prolonged conversation about London culture, asking for John's opinions on plays, operas, and museums and loudly feigning astonishment that he had never attended them. He made particular note of Miss Hale's favorite activities and indicated that they had experienced them all together. Fanny and the other ladies heard the substance, if not the tone of the conversation and joined in – giving a larger audience for Mr. Lennox to embarrass him in front of. 

The entrance of the party from Harley street did little to soothe his anxiety. Miss Hale was everything that was poised and elegant and lovely. _She_ fit in perfectly in this world. He felt his heart squeeze at the realization that this was where she belonged, not stifling in dirty smoky Milton. The ladies embarked on a discussion of Lady Wentworth's appearance and assistance with the kitchen staff which he didn't altogether follow. He had noted nothing amiss in her ladyship's attire. Though it did tend more towards the simplicity of Miss Hale's habits than the extravagance of Fanny's, he could never see that as a flaw.

As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Lennox leaned in and said in a low voice. “You think Miss Hale looking well, don't you? Milton doesn't agree with her, I imagine; for when she first came to London, I thought I had never seen any one so much changed. To-night she is looking radiant. But she is much stronger. On Friday evening we walked up to Hampstead and back. Yet on Saturday she looked as well as she does now.

John started at this statement. _'We!' Who? They two alone?_ He thought in a panic. He was flooded with jealousy. This morning Miss Hale had referred to this man as Henry, a clear sign of intimacy that he had never received from her even as she threw her arms around his neck to shield him from the rioters. Here was a man – a _gentleman_ even – who fit into her world far better than he ever could. 

John would have sulkily remained in this brooding melancholy had not Fanny's screeching voice penetrated his thoughts “Oh, Sir. Frederick, this is such an impressive drawing room! And to live so close to Hyde Park!”

“No doubt it does not come up frequently in Milton, Miss Thornton, but the proper address for a baron is _Lord_ Wentworth.” Inserted Mrs. Shaw with a fawning voice and an imperiously smug look at Miss Thornton.

~~~

Frederick Wentworth had been covertly observing Mr. Thornton since his arrival. The man clearly felt out of his element to begin with and the cunning Mr. Lennox had made a point of gleefully prodding at those insecurities. As Frederick was far more sympathetic to Mr. Thornton's plight than Mr. Lennox's, he thought he would take this opportunity to even the playing field.

“Thank you Miss Thornton, Mrs. Shaw, though I do fear it will be a rather tedious evening if you all persist in _my Lord_ -ing” me all night. In my own home I would rather you just call me Wentworth. The title means little enough to me – a hollow honor in reward for a brutal battle. I can't help but feel that I purchased the honor with the lives of far too many good men under my command.” He paused to enjoy Mrs. Shaw's smug look fade into a look of horror. “I would also gladly answer to _Admiral_ Wentworth as I worked hard to struggle up the ranks of the navy and eventually gain that title.”

“But surely you do not spurn your elevation to the nobility,” chimed in Miss Lattimer, “I feel that the practice of elevating military heroes, or …” she paused and batted her eyelashes at Mr. Thornton, “even magistrates and other civic leaders is a perfect way of replenishing the nobility with the best and most active men of our society.”

_Well, she's about as subtle as Louisa Musgrove was,_ thought Frederick. “I do not begrudge others the honor of such elevation, but I myself once suffered cruelly for the preservation of rank, and therefore I have little desire to dwell on it further.” The effusive Miss Thornton, sensing some diverting intrigue, urged him to explain.

Anne sent him a subtle look of gratitude for deftly steering the conversation to their advantage before taking a tone of mock solemnity. “I'm afraid the fault is my own. A case of star-crossed love.” 

“Oh how romantic!” Breathed Mrs. Lennox as she instinctively slid her hand into her husband's, “do tell us your story!”

~~~

All of the ladies echoed Mrs. Lennox's entreaty and Mr. Thornton found himself more interested in the story than he ought. After his own recent ruminations on gentility, he was keen to hear how this played out. The old married couple told their story with a synchronization that spoke of longstanding harmony and familiarity.

Lady Wentworth began, “Frederick and I met when I was just nineteen and fell quickly and deeply in love.”

“I was on shore leave and visiting my brother, who was a curate at Monksford, in the vicinity of Anne's family seat of Kellynch. One day I was assisting my brother on his charity rounds, when we entered the cottage of the poor widow of a tenant farmer. She had been grievously ill and all alone. I entered the cottage to the unexpected sight of this lovely creature, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor.”

“The poor woman had been so ill and unable to leave her bed that the cottage was in a frightful state. I could not, in good conscience leave her in that environment. And so I happily tended to whatever needed doing.” John was struck by the memory of Miss Hale's friendship with the dying Bessy Higgins and her visits of mercy to starving families during the strike. He hadn't approved at the time, but these attentions did speak to her nurturing nature. “I was mortified when the door to the cottage opened and the most handsome man I'd ever seen stood there looking at me in all my disheveled state.”

“She need not have worried, she was beautiful with her cheeks ruddy with the exertion and her hair coming out of its pins, even the smudge of dirt on her forehead was charming. It was not long before I realized how clever, sweet, and obliging she was. I was half in love with her before I even heard of Sir Walter Elliot or his exalted place in society.”

“Frederick was dashing, charming, and so very attentive. I was so wrapped up in his stories of heroic deeds at sea and our conversations about poetry and books that I never quite got around to speaking of my family that first day.”

“After about a month I knew I couldn't live without her, so I proposed and thought my heart would burst with feeling when she accepted.”

“For two days were were blissfully happy and nothing could dampen our spirits.”

Wentworth's face darkened as the plot turned, “Then I was obliged to apply to her father, Sir Walter Elliot, for her hand. He did everything but refuse his consent, though he did spend a half hour berating me for my presumption at aspiring to marry one of his daughters, the degradation of such an alliance, and finally, the negative effects of frequent exposure to the sea on a man's appearance.” Wentworth concluded with an exaggerated eye roll and shake of his head.

“My father, god rest his soul, was not an intelligent man. He was, however, a baronet – the highest ranking member of our local society – handsome, and vain. Rank and appearance were his primary concerns. An attachment to a naval Captain who had yet to earn his first ship and make his fortune was unacceptable even for his least favored daughter.”

~~~

“The idea of a man who must work and toil for his fortune was offensive to Sir Walter,” Wentworth spat. Margaret's cheeks burned in shame as she recalled her response to Mr. Thornton's declaration of love:   
_Your whole manner offends me._  
She herself was guilty of judging Milton in general, and Mr. Thornton in particular for similar reasons.

“But I was not so weak as to be swayed by such trivial arguments. Frederick was certain of his future success, and I had enough faith in his abilities to believe him.” Unlike me, who assumed that an honorable man wanted me as a mere possession because he was in trade, thought Margaret.

“Then Lady Russel returned from a prolonged visit.”

“My own mother had died when I was fifteen, so my godmother, Lady Russel, stood in her place as my maternal advisor. Lady Russel was of a similar mind to my father in regards to our engagement. Unfortunately, as a lady of sense and true feeling, she made a far more creditable case against our marriage. She made arguments about our youth, where I would live, the insecurity of his fortune, the danger of battle, the possibility of his death and my being left a destitute widow. But the argument that persuaded me at last was that I would hold him back. Either he would pass on opportunities that were dangerous but profitable if he had a wife at home or he would be reckless in his pursuit of prize money and put himself in danger. I could bear any deprivations for myself, but I could not bear the thought of ruining Frederick's prospects or endangering his life.” Lady Wentworth's eyes began to mist as she finished her speech and took her husband's hand.

“And so Anne came to me the following day and broke our engagement and my heart in the process. I had heard only her father's arguments and would not allow her to explain further. She had used me ill, deserted and disappointed me; and worse, she had shewn a feebleness of character in doing so, which my own decided, confident temper could not endure. She had given me up to oblige others. It had been the effect of over-persuasion. It had been weakness and timidity.” Wentworth sighed and paused. “I redirected my love to other emotions: anger, resentment, and pride. For the sake of protecting my wounded heart, I turned my back on the only woman I'd ever loved.” Margaret felt Mr. Thornton's eyes on her as she stubbornly kept her eyes on her lap. He had avoided her whenever possible since his fateful proposal. She thought of his parting declaration after the proposal: 'Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part.' Had he since conquered his love, convinced himself to reject it? Reject her? Or did he avoid her because it was too painful?

“I had to live with my decision, much as I regretted it,” Lady Wentworth said. Margaret's eyes raised involuntarily to meet Mr. Thornton's before fixing again on her hands in her lap. She struggled to maintain her composure, but she alternately feared then hoped that he had seen the regret in her own eyes. Her opinion of him had steadily risen since his proposal and she had almost instantly regretted her cruel way of refusing him.

“Lady Russel took me to Bath and paraded me in front of other men. Titled men. Wealthy men. Suitable men. But who were they to me? I even received an eligible offer from a very dear friend. However, though my family and friends had convinced me that it was my duty to break my engagement to the man I loved, they could not convince me to love a man I did not. I was not prepared to marry another while my heart beat only for Frederick. Years went by with no word from Frederick but what I could find in the newspapers and the navy lists.”

“It's not that I didn't think about contacting her, renewing our understanding. Once I had a few thousand pounds and a stable ship, I knew the only thing that could complete my happiness would be to have Anne by my side. But I was still too hurt, too suborn, too proud.”

“Eight years passed. In which span of time my father and sister had so badly mismanaged our household budget that we were forced to let the house.”

“By cosmic intervention, my sister, Sophy, and her husband were the tenants who rented Kellynch hall. You can imagine my shock when I came ashore, a successful Captain returning triumphant from war, only to find my sister installed in the very house that saw my greatest triumph and my greatest defeat.”

“Had I removed to Bath with my father and older sister, I would have been safe from his presence, but my younger sister was ill and required my presence to nurse her. Therefore I was but three miles away when Frederick visited his sister. I knew he did not care for me, otherwise he would have contacted me in all of those years.” Wentworth began to protest at this, but his wife shushed him. “This is my part of the story, my love. Anyway, I feared an awkward meeting. Equally dreading being noticed or ignored by him. The first evening we were to dine together I even managed to stay behind to care for my injured nephew to give myself a brief reprieve.” Margaret gasped. Had she not contemplated that very maneuver tonight? Margaret looked up at her cousin Edith with a worried glance, hoping she did not see the parallel between her actions tonight and Lady Wentworth's story. Edith – who probably would not have made the connection had it not been for her intense gaze – cast a confused glance first at Henry, then at Mr. Thornton. _Oh dear._ She could be sure of an inquisition from her cousin tonight

“When I showed up at the dinner party, I assumed that Anne had intentionally avoided my company and took it as a sign that she no longer cared for me. I was still angry and resentful and decided to prove how little I was affected by the situation by throwing myself into a flirtation with the two eligible ladies present.”

“I spent the next several weeks quietly dying inside while I watched _my_ Frederick flirt with my two good friends and relations Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove. I could not go a day without seeing or hearing about his romantic intrigues and worse yet, being applied to for my opinion on which of the young ladies he would choose.” Margaret passed a jealous gaze at Anne Lattimer – whom she had seen constantly on Mr. Thornton's arm since she had refused his proposal. She felt rather than saw Mr. Thornton's eyes on her.

~~~

_Is that what I've done?_ John thought to himself. He had not actively sought out Anne Lattimer's company, but when he saw her in company with Miss Hale he had certainly shown preference to Miss Lattimer. He had justified to himself that he was only trying to make Miss Hale more comfortable by not flouting his unrequited love, but Miss Hale was certainly looking at Miss Lattimer with jealousy. _Jealousy!_

“At first, having convinced myself that Anne was nothing more to me than the villain who broke my heart, I sincerely tried to attach myself to one of those girls. But I soon realized that I could not care for them. Indeed, no woman I had ever met could compare to Anne. Nevertheless, I persisted in the belief that I would never marry her. Anyone but her. I was determined to willfully misunderstand her, and continued my attentions in order to hurt her.”

“Eventually, he singled out Louisa Musgrove to the point that an engagement was every day expected by both her family and his.”

“Unfortunately, it took a blow to the head for me to realize my own feelings and the folly of my behavior.” Mr. Thornton heard the resounding clash of a teacup inelegantly hitting its saucer and realized he had done it. He looked across as Miss Hale brought her hand to the small scar still present on her hairline. The terrifying memory of holding her limp body in his arms as a dark ribbon of blood streamed off her pale lifeless face tormented him so that it took several moments before he realized the story had paused and half the eyes in the room were on him. 

Fanny – the only other person there who knew of Miss Hale's injury the day of the riot – glanced between them and uttered an undignified “Ugh!”

“I'm so sorry, I was wrapped up in the story and was clumsy.” He responded sheepishly, “please continue.”

Wentworth gave him a knowing smirk then continued, “On a short excursion to Lyme, we were walking on the cob when Louisa Musgrove insisted that I jump her down from the steps – an indulgence that I'm ashamed to admit I allowed all to freely in the past. After I'd jumped her down, she insisted that she do it again, just to enjoy the thrill of it.” He paused as he struggled to repress the guilt.

His wife continued for him. “She jumped a moment quicker than Frederick was prepared to catch her and hit her head on the pavement.”

“The whole party was lost in terrified confusion, myself included. Although there were two battle hardened veterans present, only Anne remained calm. She somehow managed to calm two hysterical women, an anxious brother, and two stunned Captains into emergency readiness. She was magnificent. It was at that moment that my emotions came rushing back to me in the full force of her superiority to any other woman.” 

Thornton was barraged with a rapid succession of images from the day of the riot: Miss Hale urging him to speak to the mob as human beings; her rushing out to calm them as he had succeeded only in further enraging them; her throwing her arms about his neck to shield him from their ire; her lifeless body in his arms; and finally his own strangled voice as he cried 'Oh, my Margaret—my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Dead—cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved!' “A calm head in the face of chaos,” he murmured to himself.

Wentworth cast him another appraising glance and replied. “Exactly! Strong, calm, and rational in the wake of a disaster. That's my Anne!” _And my Margaret!_ Thornton thought.

“While this epiphany was slowly dawning on Frederick, I had ordered Captain Benwick to fetch a surgeon and Frederick to carry Louisa to our friends' lodgings nearby. Unfortunately, with such a head wound, there was little to do but wait and see if she regained consciousness.” Thornton remembered the excruciating pain of walking away from Margaret's still form. He was duty-bound to deal with the aftermath of the riot, but was plagued with uncertainty of her wellbeing for that long weary afternoon.

“Anne had been sent home by her selfish sister,” Wentworth sneered. 

“Mary claimed a greater right to nurse her than I because she was her sister-in-law.”

“Even though she proceeded to spend the recovery period lamenting about her own invented illnesses, demanding attention, and all around getting in the way rather than actually nursing Miss Musgrove.”

“It was Frederick's insistence that there was no one so proper, so capable as me to care for Louisa and the intensity and ardor with which he proclaimed it that first alerted me to his returning feelings.” 

“And her pretty blushes and intense gaze as she replied that alerted me to her continued affections. For the first time since we were reunited I understood her. But no sooner had I come to this monumental discovery than I was informed that my flirtation with Miss Musgrove had led to the belief that an understanding was forthcoming if it did not already exist. I was wretched. I finally had happiness within my grasp when it was cruelly yanked away again. Miss Musgrove did eventually wake up and slowly her health began to improve. I knew that after my unguarded behavior and the role I played in her injury, I would have no choice but to marry her if she so desired. However, I reckoned that I might be able to decrease her attachment to me through absence. So I took an extended visit to my brother in Shropshire. I spent a miserable month in worse despair even than I was in when Anne had initially broken my heart.” Wentworth paused for a moment for dramatic effect and said in a somber tone, “until I finally got the letter.” 

“The letter?” gasped Miss Lattimer, perched at the edge of her seat.

“It would appear that while I was away, my good friend Captain Benwick had taken to reading poetry to the invalid to entertain her as she recovered. They had miraculously fallen in love, he had proposed, they were to be married. I was free!”

“I say, a fine friend he turned out to be!” Pipped up Captain Lennox, “to be making up to his good friend's intended. While she was on her sickbed too!”

“One has little control over who one falls in love with Captain Lennox.” Came John's quick reply, before he had a moment to think the better of it.

“Nor when,” replied Miss Hale softly, with a sad sheepish grin towards him. John's heart kicked faster in his chest. _Did she really just imply that she loves me or am I merely reading too much into her response?_

“Well, I will never say one word against him given the outcome!” Wentworth said with a smile as he lifted his wife's hand to his lips.

Everyone laughed assuming the tale was over. “Unfortunately,” said Lady Wentworth followed by a pregnant pause.

“Unfortunately!?” This time the youthful exclamation came from Mrs. Shaw, who was quite as enraptured by the romance as the younger girls.

“Unfortunately,” continued Lady Wentworth, “my sister Mary is a rather indifferent correspondent. She wrote to me in Bath to tell me to expect Louisa's marriage, but she neglected to inform me of the groom. As the last I had heard was the general expectation that she would marry Captain Wentworth, I expected the worst.”

“Meanwhile, I hurried to Bath as quickly as horses could take me. I had been in Bath less than a day before I heard the rumors that Miss Anne Elliot had been spending ever so much time with her cousin, William Walter Elliot. The same William Walter Elliot who was to inherit Sir Walter's title and estate. William Walter Elliot who was unabashedly and publicly enamored of his cousin despite being in mourning for his wife. I feared I was too late!”

“So there we were, both in Bath, both completely besotted with each other, but fearful we had lost the other. Luckily, word did eventually reach me that Louisa was to marry Captain Benwick and put an end to the worst of my fears.”

“I was not so fortunate. The first time we met in Bath, we managed a very civil conversation with only half the awkwardness and twice the affection of any we had had in the recent past and it began to raise my hopes. Only to be quickly dashed by the sudden appearance of Mr. Elliot who immediately whisked Anne away in a rather familiar way.”

“You see, he had been part of our family party on our excursion and we had already arranged for him to escort me home after he returned from an errand. I would far rather have had Frederick's escort but there was nothing to be done.” _Part of the family party,_ thought Mr. Thornton. As Mr. Lennox was part of Margaret's family party. That gentleman had actively been asserting his own intimacy with Margaret, but John had seen no evidence that she thought any more of him than a relation.

“As I had no means of knowing this, I was left stranded in her wake with a party of ladies and gentlemen discussing what a fine match they would make.”

“We met again at a concert in the octagon rooms.”

“Where we had a rather intimate discussion about Miss Musgrove and Captain Benwick that was a poor mask for a discussion about our own situation.”

“You see, Captain Benwick had been engaged to a lovely young woman whose family required that they wait until he made his fortune before they marry. Finally, he returned to shore with his prize money and promotion only to find that his beloved fiancée had died of a fever. You may see the parallels. I expressed to Frederick my hopes that in spite of this tragic past Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove would be happy.”

“And I made the closest thing to a declaration as I had dared in eight and a half years. I replied that 'A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman.'” With this truth rattling through his head Thornton turned a gaze of adoration on Margaret. _Look up! Look up at me! I'm sure she would see the truth if she would just look up now!_

~~~

Margaret could not look up. Wentworth's sentiments so closely resembled Mr. Thornton's own assertion of his continued love that it was painful. She had scorned that love. She had abused him and chastised him so horridly when all he wanted was for her to share his love. True, she hadn't had a high opinion of him then, and she hadn't returned his affections, but she could have been kinder.

“Although the pomp and flow of the evening soon separated us,” continued Lady Wentworth, “I spent the first act deliriously happy. Frederick loved me, the concert was well performed, and I heard my father acknowledge Frederick's acquaintance and even describe him as a 'a very well-looking man' – high praise indeed from such a shallow man.”

“The first act was not as pleasant for me. I was forced to stand to the side and watch as Anne shared her smiles with her odious cousin, who was continually leaning in closer than proper, whispering, and acting altogether too intimate. Behind her were her father and Lady Russel, glowing with approval at the pair in front of them. I was miserable. They had persuaded her once, might they not persuade her again? This was not just any man, but Sir Walter's heir!”

“He came to me during the break reverted back to a grave and dour mood. I had nearly talked him into good humor when I was applied to by Mr. Elliot to translate some Italian. I turned back to a flustered Frederick hastily making his retreat. It wasn't until that moment that I realized the cause of his mood was jealousy!” Margaret glanced between Mr. Thornton and Mr. Lennox, at the moment they were glaring at each other. Mr. Lennox with a derisive smirk. _Oh dear, Henry thinks he has the advantage here._

“In the end, we owed our mutual understanding to an overheard conversation. Anne was discussing Captain Benwick's rapid transition from grieving lover to eager bridegroom with our friend Captain Harville and how it reflected on male constancy.”

“I began by arguing that women do not forget men as soon as they forget us. Which Captain Harville took as a slight on male constancy. After a some debate I concluded that women have the unenviable privilege of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.” Margaret's gaze was again squarely focused on her lap. She was certainly not a model of women's constancy. She felt the eyes of the two men who had offered her their hands boring into her. Towards one her feelings were constant from that day, she felt a brotherly affection and camaraderie for Henry but nothing deeper. Towards the other, her feelings were decidedly changed. Where once there was anger and disdain, now was only respect and admiration. While she couldn't claim she felt the same all-consuming love that he claimed for her, she realized that she did love him. 

“As you may expect, this conversation was a sweet torture to a man who had been desperately in love with the speaker for eight years and a half. It clarified two points to me. First, that Anne had been constantly, unwaveringly, in love with me all along. Second, that Anne didn't believe I had loved her as faithfully.” Wentworth looked at Mr. Thornton as he continued his story. “But what is a man to do when he finally realizes that his love is returned by the most extraordinary woman alive but finds himself trapped in a crowded drawing room full of well-meaning but oblivious friends and relations?” Margaret couldn't help raising her eyes to Mr. Thornton's as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She fixed her large expressive eyes unflinchingly on his and awaited his answer with baited breath.

~~~

_Oh god!_ Mr. Thornton gripped the arms of his chair to prevent himself from leaping out of it and claiming her as his  own in some strange presumptuous way. There was no mistaking the affection in Margaret's eyes as she silently urged him to respond. Could she really love him? Had her feelings altered so much? His heart was pounding in his ears. Though he usually had a tight restraint on his emotions and expressions, he was certain that he was grinning like a fool. Wentworth seemed to be waiting for his response.

He responded in an unsteady voice, “I suppose it would not do to throw caution to the wind, declare your undying love and devotion, and beg her to marry you on the spot?” Margaret smiled faintly and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, but her magnificent eyes reflected love and understanding. This was not the moment for declarations, those would come later.

“Good heavens!” Tutted Mrs. Shaw, “no _gentleman_ would put any lady he truly loved through such an embarrassing public display!” 

“No, my Anne would not appreciate sharing such a private moment with a room full of spectators, but I felt that if I didn't express myself immediately my heart would burst.” Wentworth continued. “Luckily, I had been engaged in writing a letter, so I found myself sat in front of an inviting blank sheet of parchment. I wrote her a letter assuring her of my continued love and affections, my hopes for the future, and finally offering my heart again to her, for really it had never left her possession.” Having no parchment at hand, Mr. Thornton had to hope that his steady gaze conveyed the same to Margaret.

“He discretely passed me the note and disappeared before I even had time to react. As most of the party had departed at the same time as Frederick, I found myself unobserved and at leisure to read the letter which laid to rest eight an a half years of worry, despair, and loneliness. I wanted nothing more than a half hour's silence to collect my thoughts, then the opportunity to seek out Frederick and accept at once. Unfortunately I was soon joined by my family and was so overcome by my emotions that I could scarcely string together two words. My relations became quite fearful of my health. Instead of solitude, I found myself the center of fretful solicitude. My brother-in-law insisted on escorting me home to rest.”

“Fortunately, when I joined them on the street her obliging and oblivious brother-in-law turned her over to my care.”

“And instantly all symptoms of ill health evaporated and I was able to quickly and thoroughly assure Frederick of my own feelings and accept his proposal.”

“Although we still met with resistance from her family and Lady Russel, Anne was no longer a naïve girl to be talked out of her own wishes. We were married within a month.”

“Thirty-seven years, five ships, two children, a title, and five grandchildren later and my love for him has only matured and grown.” Lady Wentworth concluded the story to a mostly rapt audience. A collective sigh was released by all of the ladies and a few of the gentlemen as well. 

Mr. Thornton had held Margaret's gaze as long as possible, but when she again lowered her eyes shyly to her lap he looked about him. Margaret's aunt and cousin appeared to be too enthralled in the Wentworth's love story to pay him much heed at the moment, but Mr. Lennox's attention was oscillating between Margaret and himself. He knew it was petty, but he threw a creditable imitation of Mr. Lennox's earlier sneer back at him. 

As if on cue, the butler arrived to announce dinner just as the excited chatter that followed the Wentworth's recital began to die down.


	4. An Eventful Dinner

Henry Lennox was too sensible to be in love. True, he had once convinced himself that he was in love with Margaret Hale, but in the self-reflection that followed her rejection of his proposal he had realized that it was mostly desire, attraction, and compatibility. He had never felt the sort of consuming love described by the poets, he doubted it even existed. However, watching that tradesman make calf-eyes with the woman he intended to marry was the outside of enough. He needed to take swift action. When dinner was announced, he rushed to Margaret's side to escort her in. “So Margaret, were you as entranced by that story of romance as my silly sister-in law?” He asked with a discrete nod toward Edith, who was casting a misty gaze of adoration at her husband and smiling incandescently.

Margaret gave her cousin an indulgent smile and responded, “it's hard not to be touched by such a moving story, or by a couple who are still so much in love after so many years of marriage.”

“I never thought you so sentimental Margaret.”

“I grew up divided between two households and therefore had the benefit of two examples of matrimony. My parents may never have been wealthy, but they've always loved each other and our home was a paradise. My aunt, on the other hand, rarely saw the General. Even when he was around, he was always so severe and reproachful. I know which model I would like to follow.”

“And yet you and your mother are now forced to live in Milton in reduced circumstances whereas your aunt lives with every luxury.” Henry immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. 

Margaret reared up to her regal height and cast him a withering glare. “Mr. Lennox,” Henry was well aware that this was the first time she had addressed him so formally in well over a year, “I would far rather brave the air and climate of Milton with someone who loves me than spend my life comfortably alone. Whatever my father's faults or errors may be, I do not doubt his love for myself or my mother. What's more, I will thank you to not disparage my family, sir.” 

Henry was just opening his mouth to soothe his blunder when they reached the dinner table. Their gracious hostess had unfortunately arranged the seats and Mr. Thornton was standing behind Margaret's chair with a ridiculous grin. “Miss Hale,” he said as he held out her chair. Henry was left to stew as Margaret graciously sat next to his rival. He made his way to the other end of the table, where he proceeded to make himself as agreeable to his dinner partner, Miss Lattimer, as possible.

~~~

John could tell Margaret was still seething when he called out to her to assist her to her chair. She abruptly turned around, still in a fit pique, but her expression softened to a rueful smile when she saw him. “Oh dear, I nearly lost my temper.” Margaret said as he helped her to her seat.

“I've been trying to reign in my temper towards that man all evening. Though I dare say your rebuke was far better for everyone than anything I might have said in anger.” He said as he took his seat beside her. Said rebuke had rekindled the fire that was slightly doused when she left the parlor on Mr. Lennox's arm. Would she consider staying in Milton with one who loved her? With him? It was clear from what little he heard of their discussion that Mr. Lennox's opinions on love were dubious at best whereas Margaret valued it highly. 

Several minutes were taken up in the civilities of dinner: general chatter, footmen serving the first course, and complements to the hostess. Once those died down and conversation fractured into groups, John carefully broached the subject he desperately needed to discuss with Margaret. “The Wentworth's story was rather...”

“Illuminating?” Margaret supplied sheepishly, looking down at her napkin on her lap.

“Yes.” John smiled down at the top of her head. He had observed that although she could bravely face down his mother's insults, his own defiance, or even a very real angry mob, when conversation turned to emotional topics such as romantic interests, her mother's health, or Bessy Higgins' illness, she became shy and averted her gaze. “I could not help but reflect on my own feelings and conduct,” he continued.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “somehow it's different when hearing someone else's story, it seems so simple that if they just talked to each other, told each other how they felt … but when one is in the thick of it ... it all just seems so much more complicated.”

John wanted desperately to believe the looks that she gave him during the recitation of the story. To believe that she might care for him. Love him even. But doubt was beginning to settle in. He glanced around himself to ensure that their neighbors were engaged in their own conversations then asked in a low voice, “have we not told each other how we feel?” He held his breath, praying that her feelings had changed.

For what felt like an eternity but was likely only very few seconds, her head remained bowed, but then she turned her beautiful, large, soft eyes to return his gaze and replied, “perhaps not all women are as constant in our feelings as Lady Wentworth was.” John's heart was likely to beat right out of his chest. Her feelings had changed! After a brief pause she continued, “I told you what I was feeling at the time, but I was distraught about the riot, about Bessy, about the gossip of Fanny and your servants...”

“What has Fanny to do with it?”

“As I regained consciousness, Fanny and a servant were standing over me. They were crowing over the fact that I had thrown myself at you. Fanny declared that I had set my cap at you, which I hadn't! I couldn't bear the idea that people thought so meanly of my intentions ... that you thought so meanly of my intentions.” Her eyes again fell to her untouched soup.

"I knew that you hadn't. I told my mother so that night when she repeated the same nonsense to me.”

“Well, between all of that and the fact that I had never thought of you – of anyone really – in that way, I lashed out. I spoke to you wrongly and almost the instant you were out the door I regretted my words and the pain I had caused you.”

“And now?” He said with gentle longing.

“And now...” she paused and looked at him sheepishly, “it's as if you planted a seed. You _would_ love me, continue to love me regardless of my own actions. That seed took hold in my unconscious mind, but it wasn't until Lady Wentworth's recital and the self-reflection that it brought that the first growth burst upon me.” Her eyes again shifted to her lap before she murmured quietly, “I cannot say that my love equals yours...” 

His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, but still low so as not to draw attention as he said: “Margaret!” His eyes swept the table, the Wentworths seemed to be attempting to conceal satisfied grins but they were otherwise unobserved.

~~~

For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by lowering her head. Again, he besought her with another tremulous eager call upon her name. “Margaret!” Margaret's heart fluttered at his plea. “We are still in a crowded room, but although I do not have writing materials to hand, I can, discretely, offer you this.” She looked over to see his strong, calloused, capable hand held out to her beneath the table in silent entreaty. His eyes shone with love and hope and promise, but the longer she gazed at him the more troubled they became. With firm resolution she gave him a slight nod and slipped her hand into his. It seemed she had only a moment to enjoy the warmth of his hand around hers and the look of unadulterated joy and contentment on his face before a general bustle announced the removal of the soup course. They just barely had time to retract their hands before the footman approached them.

Glancing around the table really for the first time since she sat down, Margaret caught Lady Wentworth's congratulatory smile and nod. She lowered her eyes, her face glowing with beautiful shame. She had just become engaged, at the dinner table! How improper! How scandalous! How wonderful!


	5. Down to Business

Frederick Wentworth was heartily enjoying his evening's entertainment. Neither Thornton nor Miss Hale had touched their soup course but sat there in quietly animated conversation. He'd had the advantage of conspiratorial glances with Anne, who was discretely paying rapt attention to the two lovers while simultaneously managing to keep up a steady conversation with Mrs. Shaw to draw that lady's attention away from the pair. Miss Thornton, sitting at Anne's left and across from Mrs. Shaw, was apparently trying to mimic the elegant gestures of the two ladies. When they first sat down, Mr. Lennox and Miss Lattimer had both periodically sent frustrated glances at the lovers. After several minutes of both making a display of enjoying each other's attention, they now seemed to have settled in to actually enjoying each other's company. Mrs. Lennox and her husband seemed to be wrapped up in each other. From snippets of their conversation that he picked up, they appeared to be rehearsing their own love story to tell for posterity. That left Mr. Lattimer to himself to entertain, a slight burden as that gentleman seemed far more interested in his food and wine than his company. 

Despite the lowered voice, he faintly heard Mr. Thornton's impassioned call of “Margaret!” and shared another glance with his wife, fighting the battle against laughing at the lovelorn pair. The evening seemed to be coming to the crisis at last. Before dinner he had wagered Anne that Mr. Thornton would be unable to wait until he left to make his intentions known. His ever practical Anne had insisted that he would wait for a more private setting, but Frederick understood the man's position all too well. All those years ago he himself had fought back a violent urge to scoop Anne up from that drawing room at the White Hart in front of Sophie and Mrs. Musgrove and all and sundry to whisk her away to Gretna Green. As it was, he only made it about a half hour into his errand with Harville before he made some excuse and rushed back to meet Anne, impatient for her response. 

He looked across the table to his wife now. She had aged as she did everything else – gracefully. She was trapped in some insipid conversation with Mrs. Shaw. She looked for all the world like a gracious hostess enjoying the company of her guest but Frederick knew her better. She had a faint tick above her right eyebrow, a sure sign that she fought the urge to raise said eyebrow in mockery of Mrs. Shaw. His gaze shifted from her brow to the delicate shell of her ear, the regal slope of her neck, the creamy expanse of her shoulders, the quirk of her lips in just such a way that he knew she felt him watching her. She was perfect, his Anne. This examination, however, was best not continued at a dinner party.

Thornton and Miss Hale were now staring at each other with such looks of contentment and elation that he was certain they had reached an understanding. As the footmen came for the remove, Frederick made a point to noisily drop his spoon in order to recall the lovers to their surroundings. Anne caught Miss Hale's eye and gave her a sparkling smile. Miss Hale turned beet red and sank into a mortified reflection. 

Feeling pity for the girl, but urged by a wicked imp to offer his own subtle congratulations, Frederick cleared his throat to address the table. “I apologize that we monopolized the conversation before dinner with our story. I believe the purpose of this dinner was supposed to be focused on manufacturing cotton. Now that the romance is out of the way Thornton, shall we proceed to business?” Thornton gave him a self-satisfied lopsided grin and a nod. He at least was not ashamed of his current situation. Good man.

Before Mr. Thornton could respond, Mr. Lattimer chimed in with, “Come now Wentworth, surely the ladies are not interested in such a topic, we best wait and discuss it over our port so that they needn't worry their pretty little heads over money matters.”

~~~

_The gall of the man!_ Anne thought to herself. “Excuse me, Mr. Lattimer.” She interrupted calmly, but the steel in her voice suggested her irritation. “But as I am the one who offered the invitation and proposed the topic of conversation, I would suggest that you not make such sweeping assumptions.”

Anne gave Frederick a look of exasperation and he nodded and replied in a jovial tone. “Indeed, this whole investment is Anne's business, I'm merely here for ornament tonight.” Anne could always trust to his support.

“Led by the purse strings, are you? That's not the way we do things in Milton.” Anne was regretting the number of times her footman had obviously re-filled Mr. Lattimer's wineglass.

“On the contrary, Mr. Lattimer, my mother has always taken an active interest in my business affairs, as – I imagine – will my wife,” said Mr. Thornton. Anne was liking this man more by the minute. Miss Lattimer gave a small gasp and a moue of disappointment, but Miss Hale gave her intended an appreciative nod and a warm smile. 

Anne smiled soberly, “I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Thornton. You see, I have a small legacy that was left to me by my godmother, Lady Russell, that I wish to invest. As she had the management of her own estate for over fourty years then bequeathed it to me, I see no need to sit idly by while men decide the fate of _my_ investments.” She said regally – channeling her sister Elizabeth's icy tone – then turning to her neighbor she added, “Would you not agree Mrs. Shaw? We ladies are perfectly capable of managing on our own.” That lady had spent the dinner so far prattling on about fashion and society using phrases practically out of a pattern book for a proper dignified lady, so Anne knew that this question served as both a barb and a complement. Mrs. Shaw was now opening and closing her jaw like a fish – presumably caught between antiquated notions of women's roles, her own ability as an independent widow, and deference to Anne's higher rank. After a brief pause elicited no further reactions from Mrs. Shaw, Anne continued. “Now, Mr. Thornton, I would greatly appreciate hearing of your improvements to working conditions at your mill.”

“Many of them are precautionary measures. We've enforced regulations regarding safety, such as sending hands home when they are too ill to work, or prohibiting smoking in the carding rooms.” Mr. Thornton paused and glanced at Miss Hale who flushed and averted her eyes. Anne was sure there was a story there. “We've also invested in the new machines you viewed at the exhibition today. They are safer, more efficient, and faster. All of these measures serve dual purposes, they do improve conditions for the hands, but they also improve profit by protecting the interests of the mill, ensure it's efficient running, and increase production rates.”

“That all sounds very admirable,” said Anne, duly impressed by the measures taken.

“Now, the largest improvement to working conditions, has been the wheel which I've installed in all of my sheds. There is a great deal of fluff and dust generated in the processing of cotton that floats in the air. When workers breathe this in constantly for years it can cause a lung complaint. The wheel makes a draft to carry away the dust and fluff and makes the air easier to breathe. Now, there is no immediate profit, none that you can count in pounds, shillings, and pence. But my workers are healthier, their lungs don't clog so easily. They work for me longer, their children work for me longer.”

“And how does Marlborough Mills compare to other manufacturers in these improvements?” Asked Anne shrewdly, she didn't want to invest her money if this was all standard practice.

“Some of these conditions are fairly common. After a fire destroyed a whole mill in less than 20 minutes and killed 300 souls in Yorkshire last May, most Milton manufacturers instituted strict smoking regulations. Any manufacturer would lay his hands on the new machinery if it was in his power, I suppose. However, I was the first in Milton to incorporate the wheel in all of my sheds over two years ago. While some other masters have followed suit, most do not wish to incur the added cost without any monetary gain. I do not run a charitable institution, but I do believe that healthy workers run a more efficient mill. My life and livelihood is bound to those of my laborers.”

“And does it provide much relief for the workers?” Asked Frederick, Anne knew he took an interest in the subject despite his earlier flippant remark.

“I have a friend...” Miss Hale began, then trailed off. Mr. Thornton looked at her encouragingly and nodded. “I _had_ a friend, Bessy Higgins, who worked from childhood at Hamper's Mill. She collected fluff in her lungs and had a dreadful constant cough. When her father realized how ill she was, he moved her straight away to Marlborough Mills because it was a healthier place to work. Unfortunately the move was made too late. She is...” Miss Hale's voice broke and she took a moment before continuing, “She _was_ was not yet nineteen – the same age as myself – and she died. She once lamented to me that if only Hamper's had a wheel ...” Mr. Thornton silently passed her a handkerchief and comforted her as best he could at the dinner table. 

“How dreadful,” said Anne mournfully.

~~~

Fanny Thornton was peeved. She finally made it to London and was seated in a grand dining room in the elegant home of a peer, but conversation had drifted back to Milton nonetheless. Even worse, there was only one eligible gentleman present other than her brother and he was either wrapped up in conversation with Miss Lattimer or casting jealous glances at Miss Hale. Oh how she wished Mama and John had sent _her_ to Switzerland, or London, or anywhere really, for finishing school. Then maybe the handsome Mr. Lennox would turn her direction every once in a while. In order to polish herself up a bit, she had been paying close attention to the two elegant matrons sitting near her. However, her attention was not so engaged that she hadn't noticed John fawning over that odious Miss Hale all evening. And now Miss Hale was drawing the attention of the table with tales of her 'friend'.

Fanny remembered with a sting of jealousy that Miss Hale had commanded the attention of all of the men at her mother's dinner party as well. She recalled how soundly Miss Hale was chastised on that occasion for her relationship with the workers. Hoping for a similar outcome, she ventured to say derisively, “Miss Hale is a great friend to the workers! She frequently makes trips to the Princeton district.” 

She soon realized her miscalculation, that was a crowd of primarily mill masters who were upset by her support of the strikers. Lady Wentworth, instead of being offended at Miss Hale's poor taste in companions, perked up at her comment and responded with: “How wonderful, perhaps Miss Hale is the proper person to consult. You see, _you_ may not run a charitable institution Mr. Thornton, but I do. Several, in fact. If I were to invest in your mill, It would be with the expectation that a portion of the funds are spent to improve the conditions of your workers.”

“In that case, Lady Wentworth, I believe you are correct. Milton's workers have no stauncher defender outside of their own ranks than Miss Hale.” John cast another horridly lovesick gaze at Miss Hale.

“Well, I don't know that I'm at all qualified. My visits have been made out of friendship and aid.” 

“You may be more qualified than you think my dear, knowing what form of aid they require is the first step in improving their lot.” Lady Wentworth said kindly.

“Well, I can tell you that much of their discontent centers on food. Even we have discovered that obtaining fresh fruit and vegetables so far North, so far removed from the farms is difficult and expensive and we have more resources at our disposal than the workers as well as more convenient access to a grocer. By the time food makes it to the market in the Princeton district it is often spoiled. During the strike, while people were starving...” here Miss Hale at least had the humility to blush and turn away from John “... I brought food to the families with children, but now that most of them have gone back to work I know that they would not be interested in direct charity.”

“Then it is a problem of access?” Asked Lady Wentworth. Miss Hale nodded.

“Perhaps by buying things wholesale, and cooking a good quantity of provisions together, much money might be saved, and much comfort gained,” John suggested. “The Mill could act as something of a steward, buy in the provisions wholesale, and provide a fitting matron or cook. If we're buying in bulk, it would be easier to convince the suppliers to provide properly. We have a disused outbuilding that could be converted to a kitchen with a little renovation I think.”

“I'm afraid they might view it too close to a soup line and take offense,” contributed Mr. Lattimer. “It wouldn't do to sink money into the infrastructure of the thing if the hands were to proud to accept the gesture.” 

“But if the Mill is merely acting as an agent, and the hands paid for the food and managed the venture, perhaps even paying rent for the space, it wouldn't be charity.” Added Miss Hale, “and if you consult the union leaders, and allow them input in the plan, the workers will be more likely to take advantage of the resource.”

This was altogether too much for Fanny. “The union!” She cried, “why John wouldn't even _need_ investors if it weren't for the union and their strike! Nothing but a group of ignorant trouble makers grasping for more than they deserve.”

“That's enough Fanny!” John said sternly.

“But John! You don't approve of the union either! They broke down our gates and stormed the mill! They half killed...” Fanny's tirade quavered under the murderous glare her brother was sending her. Miss Hale paled slightly and faintly touched her temple.

“I admit that some of the men are perhaps a bit wild, but the rioting was not condoned by the union. In fact, the union expressly forbid violence.” replied Miss Hale quietly.

“Even so, their strike led to that violence, and they took unpardonable risks.” John said quietly with a pointed look of concern towards Miss Hale.

“But even if you are unable to meet their wage demands, do you not think that working with the union towards the goal of improving conditions would gain you better communication with your workers?” 

“Perhaps, though I have always found them to be ruthlessly suborn and ignorant of the vast quantity of variables that influence wages.” John turned to address his hostess, “Miss Hale and I have never been able to reconcile our opinions on the union, you see.”

Lady Wentworth gave him a knowing smile and retorted, “well then, perhaps in the future it'd be best for me to direct my projects through _Mrs._ Thornton.” 

Fanny scoffed, “Mother disapproves of the union more than even John does! Why, she thought John should just fire the lot of them when the strike ended and keep his Irish hands.” Fanny was a bit disgruntled and confused that nobody seemed to react to her statement, instead the Wentworths merely chuckled and cast significant glances toward Miss Hale.

~~~

“Regardless of our respective feelings on the union,” Margaret said, blushing in mortification at being referred to as Mrs. Thornton before her engagement was even announced, “we can hardly condemn the workers for their ignorance when they are deprived of basic schooling and necessity forces them to work from an early age.”

“Is there no school then?” Inquired Lady Wentworth.

“I believe there is, Bessy's sister Mary was kept from the factory so that she might go to school, but it is expensive. Not only in the cost of the school itself, a child cannot work if they are in school. Furthermore, it is not easily accessible to all families.”

“Have you another unused outbuilding Mr. Thornton?” Asked Wentworth with a smile.

“We do, and preparations for a school would require even less remodeling. If parents could bring their children with them on their way to work it would be easier to access.”

“I would gladly help with a school, as a pastor's daughter I often volunteered at the parish school when I was in Helstone. Yet, I can not see the Milton laborers taking kindly to that type of charity school. I'd say it's another matter to be discussed with the union if we want it to succeed. It may be best to ask what type of schooling they want. I know that my father's lectures are not always well attended for want of interest.”

“Do you have a particular union leader in mind, Miss Hale?” Lady Wentworth asked.

“Bessy's father, Nicholas Higgins, is a committee man and quite clever too. I've come to know him through my friendship with his daughter and I think he'd be just the man for the job.” Miss Hale added with a rueful smile, “though I do believe he'd be more receptive to the idea if it came from me, he did once compare Mr. Thornton to a bulldog.”

“Margaret!” Aunt Shaw seemed to finally find her voice, “it is not your place to interfere in Mr. Thornton's business proceedings. You are a gentleman's daughter, not a school mistress!”

Margaret shared a confidential glance at Mr. Thornton, knowing that very soon it _would_ be her place. “Aunt, I am not proposing that I take a position as a school mistress, merely that I first approach Mr. Higgins as a neutral, but interested party. There is so much animosity between the masters and the union that I fear Mr. Thornton might meet with resistance even if he had good intentions.”

“Well Thornton, what do you say? Are you comfortable with Miss Hale acting as your envoy?” Asked Wentworth.

“I can think of no better person,” he replied. Margaret could tell from the look in his eyes that he referred to more than just her proposed role as his representative to the union.

“Excellent,” exclaimed Lady Wentworth, “Mr. Thornton, would two weeks be enough time for you to make some plans and draw up some figures? At that time Frederick and I could make the trip to Milton with our solicitor and arrange the particulars.”

“Oh dear, I fear that Captain Lennox won't be available to take me home until the end of the week! That would not give me much time to serve as your envoy.” Margaret said sullenly. She longed to return home and see to her mother's health, to receive her father's blessing on her engagement, and to start setting their plans in motion.

“I do apologize Margaret,” replied Captain Lennox with true contrition, “even in London, an officer does have the occasional duty.”

“You could return with us,” came the soothing Darkshire brogue beside her. “We are returning on the first southbound train in the morning, I'm sure you are anxious to see your mother and that will get you home a full three days earlier. Fanny will be along to make it proper.” Fanny cast her a sneer, but that did not deter Margaret.

“Oh! Mr. Thornton, that would be wonderful!”

“Margaret, you've barely been here a week! That's hardly worth effort of making the trip,” scolded Aunt Shaw.

“Sholto will cry so!” Exclaimed Edith.

“Aunt, Edith, I do so miss you and enjoy your company, but I've been so worried over mother's health that I doubt I'd be able to relax and enjoy myself. I only came because mother insisted that I visit the exhibition, and I've done that.”

“I suppose it must be for the best then,” replied Aunt Shaw sullenly. Margaret guessed that she would rather have refused her consent, particularly at Mr. Thornton being the man to escort her, but she dared not voice such an opinion in front of Lady Wentworth.


	6. Rumination and Recitals

John sat nursing his glass of port and smoking a cigar. The ladies had departed to the drawing room, and as per custom the men must drink their wine, smoke their cigars, and discuss manly topics. John just wanted to return to Margaret's side. Their understanding was so new that without her soothing presence by his side he was having trouble believing it was real. He could tell by the way that Wentworth locked up the cigar case and sent away the bottle of port that he did not wish to be parted from his wife for any longer than propriety dictated, and Captain Lennox didn't seen too keen to settle in either. Only the sullen Henry Lennox and the inebriated Mr. Lattimer seemed content to remain where they were, engaged in a rousing conversation about modern financial practices.

Having a natural aversion to speculation after his father's financial ruin and subsequent suicide, and a wish to avoid the acid wit of Mr. Lennox, John shifted closer to Captain Lennox and Wentworth. They were having a lively conversation about the comparative merits of the Duke of Wellington and Admiral Lord Nelson and their respective roles in the defeat of Napoleon. Wentworth had the upper hand in the conversation because he had actively served in the navy during the war with Napoleon under Nelson's command whereas the young Captain Lennox had merely studied the strategies of Wellington. After Trafalgar and Waterloo were thoroughly canvased, talk shifted to the war in general. More confident in his abilities than he had been before dinner, John entered the conversation with a comparison between Napoleon's plans and the early Roman Emperors in his quest to bring Europe under his own control. 

As soon as the last cigar was finished, Wentworth hastily urged the gentlemen out of the room to rejoin the ladies. Margaret was seated on a sofa with Mrs. Lennox with space beside her for one gentleman. John saw Henry Lennox eying the same seat, but Margaret looked up at him with a smile and said, “Mr. Thornton, will you please join us? I would like to discuss our travel plans for tomorrow.” With a lively step and a light heart, he went to sit beside his intended.

As he approached, Mrs. Lennox, a beautiful, fair, fairylike creature, cast such a incandescent smile on him as to assure him of her good information. “Mr. Thornton,” she said in a confidential tone, “I must congratulate you. I know you must still speak to uncle, but I plagued Margaret until she gave me confirmation. She is really almost a sister to me, and she was the first person _I_ told when Sholto proposed, so it was only fair.”

John struggled to maintain a neutral composure, but fell short of the mark. Margaret had told her cousin about their engagement! Merely having another person know made it all the more real somehow. “Thank you, Mrs. Lennox, I assure you I shall strive all my days to be worthy of her.”

Captain Lennox approached behind his wife as John made this reply and surveyed the three radiant faces. “Ah, I thought that might be the lay of the land.” He said with a roguish smile. “I take it that the news is still confidential?”

“I have yet to speak with Mr. Hale.” Thornton said cautiously, looking about the room somewhat uncomfortably. It wouldn't do to cause a scene, and he had no doubt Fanny would do just that and suspected the same of Mrs. Shaw.

“And thus the urgency of your return to Milton,” replied the Captain with a gleam in his eye. “I must say I feel much more easy sending Margaret home with you now.” Margaret's face was bright red and her eyes downcast. Luckily for Margaret's composure, their illicit conversation was interrupted by Wentworth calling for music. It was clear that he wished his wife to play, but Fanny jumped at the opportunity to exhibit in front of all of these fashionable London people.

~~~

Margaret was thoroughly uncomfortable having her private affairs spoken of, even in this small group of her dearest friends. How would she bear it when all of Milton was gossiping with the news. She had once scoffed at the notion that _all_ of the women of Milton admired Mr. Thornton, but in short order she realized that he was a common figure in the gossip of the town. He was the youngest and by far the most handsome master, which made him prey for matchmaking mamas and eager young women. As a relative nobody in Milton, Margaret could scarcely compare to her rivals. Their engagement was sure to be much talked over in the parlors and warehouses alike.

The jarring notes of Fanny's playing brought Margaret out of her reverie, her skill fell short of the expectation she had built when she declared the piano as almost a necessary of life.

Mr. Thornton was seated next to her looking at her contentedly. “I suppose we really ought to discuss our travel plans for tomorrow,” she said in a low voice so as not to interrupt the performance or offend the performer. 

“I'm afraid we shall leave rather early,” he said in a sympathetic tone, “as we are taking the first train, we shall have to call for you around five.”

“The earlier we leave, the earlier we will be home.” The phrase was common enough, but the idea of going home with Mr. Thornton made it seem somehow more intimate. She quickly gave him her aunt's direction in Harley street.

They lapsed into silence and Margaret thought about home; about her mother's illness; about her father's stilted attempts at making a living in Milton; about Henry's earlier statement that her and Mama were forced to live in Milton in reduced circumstances. It was true that her mother's health had steadily declined since their move. Something of her dark thoughts must have shown on her face because Mr. Thornton quietly asked her if she was alright.

“Of course.” Margaret replied. “I'm only thinking of my mother. Henry hinted at the most painful topic earlier and I can't help fretting over it. I love my father, and I know he loves us. But...”

“But?” He prodded.

“But my father _did_ give up his income and move us to Milton and now Mama is...” She couldn't bring herself to complete the sentence. To admit out loud that her mother was dying. 

“And the doctor suggested that the move to Milton was harmful to her health?”

Margaret thought back. Mama and Dixon had lamented that the Milton air was bad for her, Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Henry never lost an opportunity to bemoan the evils of the relocation. Even Papa had begun to lament that Milton was an unhealthy place. However, Dr. Donaldson... “no. Actually, he said that her condition was likely a progression of a chronic complaint as she had many of the symptoms for years before the move.” Recalling the doctor's words was a balm. “I am glad that the Milton air is not the cause of her illness, I could never regret the move. Not now.” She gave him a small smile, before her thoughts turned back to home. “Did you have your usual lesson this week? How is Mama?”

“When I visited two days ago she was abed. Mr. Hale said she's been in much the same state all week. Though I haven't seen her myself since you went away.”

“Abed?” Margaret paled, “but she was doing so well before I left. Oh! I never should have come to London! Only Mama insisted.”

“Is it as bad as all that?”

“Dr. Donaldson does not have much hope.” Margaret said softly as she stifled a small sob and turned her head away. She felt his hand reach for hers, which was laying between them on the sofa, partially covered by her skirts. They dared not remain thus for long while in company, but his hand was like a lifeline. She had been required to remain strong for so long. She was the voice of reason through the whirlwind of Edith's wedding. Then it felt as if they'd scarcely returned to Helstone before Father told her that they must leave. His will was strong enough to require the relocation, but not strong enough to to break the news to her mother so that task fell to Margaret as well. Upon their arrival in Milton she had shared the burden of finding and negotiating their lodgings, bolstered her mother's low spirits, reassured her father, smoothed Dixon's temper, and even shared the servant's tasks. And now she bore the weight of her mother's illness, shielding her father from the truth. She had in turns born her mother's hysterical insistence that she write to Frederick, then her mother's remorse and her father's disapproval that she had done so. She had carried all of this weight for so long, she was the rock easing other people's turmoil. But now she had this man. This wonderful, loving, handsome, capable, man to share her burdens. She squeezed his hand softly and whispered, “thank you.”

“For what?”

She turned and gazed into his tender ice blue eyes. “Thank you for taking me home tomorrow, for bringing my mother fruit even after I was so terrible to you, for being a good man, for being here for me, for ... for loving me.” His eyes widened and shone with intense emotion, but his only other response was a fervent squeeze of her hand.

~~~

Anne watched the young couple on the sofa with content. They seemed almost different people from the those who had argued publicly at the exposition that afternoon. She felt a familiar warmth at her back and leaned in to her husband. “We did good work tonight, my dear.”

“It was your campaign darling, I only followed orders. Are we really going up to Milton-Northern in two weeks?”

“Of course! I must follow this through to the end. Besides, I will be able to put Lady Russel's money to good use.”

“Investing in trade? Forty years ago she would have gone into a fit of apoplexy at the thought of it.” Frederick laughed near her ear.

“Perhaps, but times change, _she_ changed after she saw how much happier I was after our marriage. Besides, I prefer to think of it as investing in their community, and Lady Russel was always eager to do that. I have every faith in that young couple to do great things with my money.

Anne winced as Miss Thornton hit a note sharp. “I was hoping to hear you play tonight, but it seems you've been usurped,” Frederick sighed.

“There are four lovely young women in the room, nobody wants to hear this old lady play.”

“Except for her doting husband.”

“Yes, except for you. If you manage to politely sit through the young ladies' performances, I will give you a private exhibition when they all leave.”

Frederick's hand snaked around her hip and gently pulled her back to him. “Promise?” He whispered against her ear and she blushed and nodded, “remember you do owe me a forfeit on our wager as well. Those two,” he nodded to where Mr. Thornton was discretely holding Miss Hale's hand, “have definitely come to an understanding.” 

“I do believe you're right.”

~~~

As the last cords of her lively Italian song softly waned, Fanny felt truly content. The room erupted into warm applause from a fashionable audience as she sat at a beautiful instrument, in a grand parlor, in an elegant townhouse, in _London!_ In her excitement, she would have launched into a second tune, but Lord Wentworth's clear voice commanded rather than asked Miss Lattimer to play the next. She reluctantly left the instrument, stroking the keys lovingly one last time.

Fanny felt a twinge of jealousy as Miss Lattimer played a French air with perfect execution. She began to feel disheartened as she sat through Mrs. Lennox's flawless performance as she played and sang a complex song in – what language was that even?* If she ever needed proof that there was merit in finishing schools or London masters, it was surely exhibited tonight. At least the night would end on Miss Hale's performance. She herself had admitted she didn't play well. 

Lord Wentworth barely waited for the final strains to dissipate before he invited Miss Hale to play, as if he were impatient for the performance – or for it to be over. “Oh, I really couldn't, not after such talent as we've heard tonight. Lord Wentworth looked all to ready to acquiesce to her refusal, but Mrs. Lennox pressed her. 

“Nonsense Margaret, you play charmingly.” Her cousin urged her. “She was attempting to master Liszt's _etudes_ when she was seventeen, and when she couldn't – because really nobody can – she declared that she was through with the piano.” Fanny balked, she'd once seen some Liszt sheet music and was scarcely able to parse it on paper, let alone attempt it in practice.

“Yes, and that was two years ago. I've scarcely touched a piano since.”

“Come now, I won't take no for an answer,” continued Mrs. Lennox. “If it will put you at your ease, I shall play with you. Do you remember that lovely duet that we spent six months perfecting when we were fourteen? Surely you can't forget a piece you practiced for six months. You'll recall that I can be every bit as stubborn as you.”

“If that's the truth, we shall be here all evening.” John quipped in the sarcastic tone he typically reserved for banter with their mother. 

“I see I've been overruled,” Miss Hale smirked at John and approached the piano. Fanny was enchanted by their performance, it was nearly a dance as well as a performance on the piano. Their arms crossed elegantly and with practiced ease, there were choreographed twirls as the other performer carried the whole tune, all while the music flowed seamlessly. If Miss Hale were indeed out of practice, she hid it well with the grace and feeling of her playing. 

The party broke up shortly after the resounding applause for the duet, ushered out by an eager Lord Wentworth. As she sat in the carriage returning to their hotel, Fanny decided that she had a new found appreciation for Miss Hale. _Which is probably for the best, as my brother is most certainly in love with her_ she thought. John sat staring out of the window with unseeing eyes, a hint of a smile on his face. Fanny couldn't recall ever seeing him so content. Mother would not be pleased but Fanny found herself rather resigned to the idea. Perhaps Miss Hale would practice a duet with her. 

*It's Greek! Edith learned the song while in Corfu.


	7. Overdue Explanations

They returned to Harley street early by London standards, but rather late for anyone who must awaken by four thirty. In the confines of a drawing room with Aunt Shaw, Anne Lattimer, Fanny Thornton and Lady Wentworth hovering nearby, Margaret had only given Edith the barest essential information – she was engaged, she was in love, she was happy. Edith, being rather a romantic herself, was happy that Margaret had found a love match. She knew that when Edith followed her into her room and lounged unceremoniously on her bed that she owed her the full story. 

“Now Margaret, you've been very sly. In all of your letters, you never let on that you had a suitor.”

“I promise I will fulfill your curiosity. However, as it is a rather long story and I have an early train to catch, you must help me pack while I tell it. I cannot call for a maid to pack while I'm pouring out my secrets.”

“Very well,” Edith sighed as she rose and began gathering Margaret's belongings from the vanity.

“Oh Edith, I so wanted to write to you about him, to speak to you. But I hardly knew how. I started off with such a strong dislike towards Mr. Thornton. He was brusque and unrefined, quick to temper, and in trade! In short, he was the embodiment of all that I resented in Milton as a whole. He was more of an adversary than a suitor. There was no intervening stage of friendship. Our intercourse had been one continued series of opposition. Our opinions clashed; and indeed, I had never perceived that he had cared for my opinions, as belonging to me, the individual.”

“Goodness, what happened to bring about the change?”

“I suspect there were many small circumstances, and we did grow to know each other gradually. But there was a crisis that brought everything to a simmer. I must ask you not to share this tale with your mother, I could not bear for it to get around to my parents.” Seeing Edith's look of shock, she hastily clarified, “I have done nothing I'm ashamed of, I just fear lest they worry. The strike ended rather spectacularly with a riot. Mr. Thornton had decided to break the strike by bringing in Irish hands and the poor starving strikers revolted against this. I had, quite by accident, visited the Thorntons that day asking after a watter mattress to help ease my mother's pain. When the rioters broke through the gate, Mr. Thornton bade me to hold up my courage until the soldiers arrived. You know me, I could not abide to see those poor starving laborers forced to see the type of 'reason' the soldiers would doll out, so I ordered Mr. Thornton to go speak to the rioters, to calm them and save his terrified Irish workers. Apparently I already held quite a bit of power over him because he did it. At my bidding, he placed himself in front of an angry mob!” Edith gasped with the appropriate mixture of horror, admiration, and expectation.

“From the window I saw several reckless young men arm themselves with shoes and rocks and realized how rash and dangerous my order was. How could I bear it if he came to harm because of me? I rushed down and tried to speak to the mob, calm them, disperse them. When that wasn't effective, I used the only weapon at my disposal, my self, to protect him from danger. I was not consciously aware of it at the time, but I feel I must have already loved him somewhat for I threw my arms around his neck and sought to shield him from their wrath. The only thing I accomplished was receiving the blow that was meant for him.”

“Oh Margaret!” Edith cried with true concern, “Are you alright?” 

As Edith had always been Margaret's closest confidant, and the worst of the story was already out, Margaret stepped forward and lifted her hair to reveal the small scar on her temple. “I was grazed by a rock and rendered unconscious. I awoke briefly, just long enough to assure Mr. Thornton I was well before I collapsed into his arms.” Edith gasped in horror. “I awoke to the sound of Miss Thornton and a maid gossiping and accusing me of throwing myself at Mr. Thornton. You, of course, are familiar with my temper and obstinacy, the thought that I was now expected to marry Mr. Thornton, that people thought I was trying to force his hand enraged me. I went home as soon as the doctor would allow me. My wound was not serious, not as serious as my wounded pride at any rate, and I would not have my parents worry about my safety. I was more determined than ever against Mr. Thornton. Unfortunately, the incident had the opposite effect on him. When he came to my parent's house the next day to thank me, to offer for me, I was in the worst frame of mind to be receptive to his offer or his feelings. Oh Edith! The things I said!”

“There there,” Edith soothed her just as she would her son, “It couldn't have been so bad or we wouldn't be here packing your bags in anticipation of him coming for you in the morning.”

Margaret smiled mischievously. “Our present understanding is largely because he is as obstinate as me. I spewed a lot of nonsense about the tyranny of the masters, about him wanting to posses me, about my fervent dislike of him. I was so cruel and direct. But you'll never guess his response.”

“No! What?”

“He defied my dislike. He told me that he had never loved anyone else, that he would continue to love me regardless of my feelings for him!”

“Oh how romantic! Has he been brooding all this time then?”

“It sure didn't appear so from my point of view. He's avoided me when he could. When we did meet in public, he wore a stony mask of resentment and he seemed to always have Anne Lattimer hanging off of his arm.”

“And surely nothing could bring out my stubborn Margaret's latent love as quickly as jealousy,” Edith teased.

“To own the truth, even though I was, perhaps, jealous of Anne Lattimer, I didn't realize I loved him until the Wentworths were telling us their story tonight. To hear of Lady Wentworth's regret over turning down the man she loved – for what she thought were good reasons at the time, but upon reflection were trifling – caused me to reflect on my own actions.”

“And I'm sure having the vision of Mr. Thornton across from you all the while didn't help your resolve.”

“Those eyes! How could I resist those beseeching eyes? His mask of resentment quickly dissolved away into a look of pure adoration.”

“Wait a moment,” Edith paused her folding, “if all of these revelations took place tonight, when did you get engaged?”

Margaret looked down sheepishly. “Over the soup course?”

“At dinner?” Edith squealed in delight. “How shocking! In front of my mother! And your rival Miss Lattimer! And...” she gasped in dismay, “oh no, Henry! Poor dear, I had always hoped you'd marry him you know.”

“So did he, but as I already refused him before we moved to Milton, I had hoped he would have got over it by now.”

Edith dropped the shift she was folding and stared at Margaret. “Henry proposed to you? How could you not tell me!”

“You were away in Corfu, and I was so embarrassed. I did not return his affections. Besides, Henry couldn't want his failure broadcast to the world. I'm afraid I'm rather bad at turning down proposals, though I was not as terrible to him as I was to Mr. Thornton.”

“Well, my dear, your actions tonight show that a refusal of an offer is not necessarily final.”

“But it has never been the same with Henry, I've only ever seen him as a friend. Mr. Thornton … well, even when I thought I disliked him I still found myself noticing everything about him, losing myself in our arguments, seeking him out in a crowd, our exchanges were always … passionate.”

“I must say – love and passion – it sounds like you've made a promising start!” Edith paused and considered for a moment. “Anyone with eyes can see he loves you, but are you sure you love him now? You weren't just swept up by romantic tales and adoring glances? ”

“I do Edith, I love him. If I look back and consider my actions and reactions in all honesty, I believe I always have loved him. I wouldn't have reacted as strongly to our arguments if there wasn't some deeper feeling.” 

“I'm so glad you've found love Margaret!” Edith said sincerely with a sisterly hug. Her expression dimmed as she pulled away. “I suppose Henry will manage his disappointment. I only wish Milton wasn't so dreadfully far away,” pouted Edith.

“It's not nearly so far as Corfu,” Margaret gently reminded her.

“Oh phoo! You know Sholto and I will always make London our home when we can. I have always hoped you'd settle nearby so we could raise our families together.”

“Well, Milton isn't another planet, we'll aways be able to visit each other. There _is_ a rather convenient train line connecting the two cities.” Margaret checked her watch as she said this, “Oh dear, speaking of which, I'm due at that train station in less than six hours, I ought to try to get some sleep.” 

“Very well, we wouldn't want you to look haggard for Mr. Thornton now would we?” Edith teased and Margaret blushed furiously.

~~~

John's mind was busy with planning as they entered their suite of rooms, it would be a busy few months what with the wedding and preparations for the dining hall and the schoolroom. This investment from the Wentworths was unconventional, but their money would stave off any immediate danger to the mill and their reforms may help soothe the bitterness between him and his workers. The success of the mill was even more paramount than ever. He'd soon have a wife. Perhaps even a child within the year. He'd always thought of Margaret as a fighter, strong and independent and ready to take on the world. Yet tonight he'd seen her vulnerability – more-so even than when she'd been injured in the riot. She had thanked him so sweetly and sincerely for taking care of her. He'd been so moved that he couldn't even form a reply. She _trusted_ him to take care of her and he would do anything to live up to that trust. Even though he would see her again in mere hours, parting from her tonight had been torture. At least he could console himself with the fact that soon they wouldn't need to be separated at night. He could take her home to their bed.

“Well?” Asked Fanny impatiently, breaking into his thoughts. Had she asked him a question?

“Well?”

“Really John, I do have eyes, you know. It seems you had a rather eventful evening.”

He flushed slightly but he wasn't ready to have this conversation with his sister so he dissembled. “Yes, the Wentworths' investment will be instrumental in pulling us out of the hole the strike put us in.”

“You know that's not what I mean.” She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't respond. “Fine then! If you're not in a talkative mood, I'll be sure to drink enough coffee before we leave to stay bright and alert the whole ride back to Milton. I'll be able to talk fashion and music with Miss Hale nonstop _and_ I'll be able to report every detail of our trip back to Mother. If you had any interesting news, any reason you may want some privacy on the train, I might be persuaded forgo my coffee and nap quietly.”

For all of her talk against Milton ways, it seemed that Fanny had picked up some skills at negotiation. He sighed, “Alright Fanny, you win. Mind you, I have yet to ask Mr. Hale for his consent so you'll need to keep it quiet for the time.”

“I knew it! For all of your talk of being 'safe' from Miss Hale, I knew how it would be!” 

“I thought I was safe because she'd never have me. She's had me under her spell from the beginning.”

“Oh please, all of the young ladies of Milton have been after you for ages. Why should Miss Hale be any different?”

“But she is, and that's part of why I love her.” John couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. “No matter what the gossip said, she never chased after me, she was always so elegant and regal and above my touch. Until tonight.” He said the last somewhat wistfully.

“Who would have thought it! My severe older brother pining away for a girl like a lovesick schoolboy! Well, I suppose she's not as conceited as Anne Lattimer at least. Do you know Miss Hale told me she couldn't play well? I was never more amazed than when she began playing.” Nor had John, he'd been transfixed. “And she's got family in London! Maybe she'll be able to take me for a longer visit!” 

John mused to himself that apparently musical talent and connections in London were all it took to bring Margaret up to Fanny's standards. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves Fanny. Mother would still have to agree to that scheme and I'm not sure how she'll take the news.”

“Oh, she'll be livid. She was so angry with Miss Hale after the riot, and as you know, she's never been terribly fond of her.”

“Yes, thank you Fanny.” There was no one like a younger sister for pointing out the obvious. Mother would be difficult to bring around. But she did want his happiness, and there's nothing in the world that could make him as happy as Margaret Hale had tonight. “We've got an early morning, we ought to get to bed.”


	8. Northbound Train

_Monday October 13, 1851_

Margaret sat serenely watching London pass by as the train quickly sped out of the metropolis. She was seated beside Miss Thornton, who had been chattering for the past ten minutes about how she planed to nap the whole trip but had yet to make any move to do so. Margaret shared a laughing glance with Mr. Thornton at her antics. She had found when they picked her up that the Lattimers were remaining in town for the whole week, therefore it was only Mr. and Miss Thornton with her in the train car. She was impatient to have her father's blessing, to have their engagement acknowledged, to be married. 

A quarter hour later, when Miss Thornton was finally softly snoring, Mr. Thornton reached his hand out to Margaret. She took his hand and moved to join him on the facing bench. “What was that display about?” She asked in a low voice, nodding towards their sleeping companion.

“Fanny cornered me last night with an ultimatum. I had the choice of telling her where we stand, or she would consume her weight in coffee and remain alert for the whole train ride. I suspect that was her way of reminding me that she'd hold her side of the bargain.”

“So your sister knows?”

“Yes, does that bother you? You did tell Mrs. Lennox after all.” 

She saw a touch of anxiety on his brow and quickly answered, “I don't believe either of us had much choice, they both seem very determined. Only, if I had know that Miss Thornton was in on the secret, I would have sat with you from the start.”

“Margaret, we were never alone last night, never able to speak freely. I …” his eyes bore into hers. Lowering his voice to a tender intensity of passion he continued, “Margaret Hale, I love you. Will you be my wife?”

Although they had already come to an understanding the previous evening, Margaret was overcome with emotion at hearing the words spoken aloud. She was unable to meet his eyes, but she replied in a soft voice, “yes, Mr. Thornton. I love you and I will marry you.”

Mr. Thornton's hand closed around hers where it sat on her lap. She absently caressed his fingers with her thumb. Glancing across the carriage to assure herself that Miss Thornton was indeed asleep, Margaret gave in to the impulse to raise his hand to her lips. His gentle fingers raised her face so that he could look into her eyes. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. At first it was just a feather light brush of the lips that sent tingles rushing through her body. Then his other hand cupped her face and the kiss deepened. In both of her previous proposals, Margaret had felt awkward, unprepared, unable to fill the role that they had asked her to fill and somewhat angry that they demanded something of her that she couldn't give. But here, now, with Mr. Thornton, everything just felt right, comfortable, safe. 

He pulled back slowly, seeking her eyes. He looked so nervous, and vulnerable – the man who had stood defiantly in front of an angry mob and refused to give in to their demands. It took Margaret a moment to recover her faculties before she smiled up at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

~~~

The reality of kissing Margaret exceed even his dreams – and kissing Margaret had played a prominent role in his dreams for nearly a year. As he drew back from the kiss, he was struck by the memory of his last disastrous proposal – blasphemy she had called it. And now he had taken liberties with her person. What must she think of him! His anxiety evaporated and he smiled as she reaffirmed her love for him. “This feels like a dream,” he whispered, softly stroking her cheek. “I can scarcely believe it's real.”

Margaret smiled and nodded toward Fanny, whose snores had increased somewhat in volume as she fell deeper into sleep. “Surely your dreams would not include your sister's dubious chaperonage.”

“For a moment I'd quite forgotten her presence.” Just then, Fanny made her presence known with a loud snore, sending the two lovers into a fit of laughter. 

They settled back into the seat and John draped an arm over her shoulder. He knew that this respite would be brief and once they arrived he would get few chances to touch her until they were married. _Married!_

“We ought to discuss our plans for when we arrive. I know you are anxious about your mother, and I am anxious to speak to your father, but Fanny complicates things. My mother may be …”

“difficult?” Supplied Margaret helpfully.

“Well, yes. Even more so if Fanny races home and tells her of our engagement before I have a chance to tell her myself. She has never been fond of you.”

“No,” laughed Margaret nervously, “I can imagine her indignant tones as she says, 'That woman!'”

“She's a formidable woman, and you did break her son's heart not so long ago.” He'd said it lightly, but Margaret gave a faint cry of dismay and cupped his cheek.

“I am deeply sorry Mr. Thornton. I blush when I remember how wrongly I spoke to you.” Her head again dropped, her eyes drooped and pooled with tears.

“Margaret, you've said more than enough in the last four and twenty hours to make up for any pain you caused me then.” He pulled her closer and she laid her head on his shoulder, hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close. At length he added “though it would help convince me that this is all real if you would call me John.” 

“John then,” the combination of his name on her lips and her warm breath on his neck stirred a riot of feelings in him. “I believe part of me was in love with you even then but I was bitter at the accusations, angry at the world, at the riot, at life in Milton and you stood as a surrogate of Milton for me to vent my anger on.”

“Hush love, let us not renew old quarrels,” he said as he lightly caressed her arm. “Now, If we ever wish to gain my mother's approval, I think it best if we approach her openly and honestly. If we take a cab from the train station to Marlborough Mills, we can ask it to wait while we talk to my mother then continue on to Crampton. We shall only be delayed by a half hour or so that way.”

“I think it a fine idea. Then we shall be together when we inform all of our parents.” 

John wasn't sure how long he sat in quiet contemplation, but he eventually noticed that Margaret had dozed off. He had never been quite so content as he was with his Margaret sleeping in his embrace. It may not be entirely proper, but he could not bring himself to move her. Before long the rocking of the train car had lulled him to sleep as well.

~~~

Fanny awoke with a start, disoriented and groggy. She looked out the window, and after a moment realized that she was on a train, and that train was stopped at a station about halfway to Milton. Looking about the car, she was shocked to see Miss Hale asleep on the seat across from her, nestled into her brother's embrace. How indiscreet! Why, anyone passing on the platform could look in and see them! She was about to wake them when she noticed John's serene face.

Her brother was thirteen years her senior and for as long as she could remember he had worked hard. Of course, she had been told about her father's death, the scandal it raised, and their resulting poverty but all she remembered was a happy, carefree childhood. John and her mother had given her everything she needed, and eventually everything she wanted. She had always been somewhat jealous of the bond her mother and brother shared, always scheming and planning and excluding Fanny as if she didn't understand. As she got older, however, she _did_ understand more than they realized. As a child she realized that John was never around as much as she would like but that there were always other children there for her to play with. Upon reflection as an adult, she realized that John was at work and her playmates were children her mother minded to bring in income. 

Fanny had often seen her brother sleeping. He fell asleep in his study often enough while pouring ledgers or some such thing. She had once even commented to her mother about John's talent for looking grave even in his sleep. But now he was calm, smiling faintly, and clasping on to Miss Hale as if she were the most precious object on this earth. As the train jerked to a start again Miss Hale roused just enough to nestle her head further into John's neck, move her hand sweetly on his chest, and give a contented sigh. John rubbed his hand up her arm then pulled her even closer, as if even in his subconscious he was afraid that any movement would take her away from him. 

_No,_ thought Fanny, _John has led a life of self-denial so that I may lead a life of indulgence. The least I can do is let them sleep._ As she rolled her sore neck, she contemplated that Miss Hale at least appeared comfortable. She carefully rolled up her shawl to minimize the creases and used it as a pillow as she lounged over the full length of the seat. _Besides, maybe they will return the favor and be just as charitable chaperons to me some day._ With this happy thought she fell unceremoniously back to sleep dreaming about a faceless man who would cradle her like a long lost treasure.

~~~

Margaret awoke feeling warm and cozy, she sighed and burrowed deeper into her pillow. She was rather alarmed when the pillow sighed back. Her eyes flew open to the sight of a black cravat, white shirt points, and a severe jaw. She jumped and tried to sit up, but the arms around her tightened. She was on the verge of panic when a familiar deep voice, thick with sleep, said: “Margaret, calm down love, you fell asleep.” Mr. Thornton. _John._ She pushed herself off of his chest much more sedately and this time he complied though he kept his arm around her shoulder. John was endearingly rumpled. He appeared to be brushing off the effects of sleep himself and was looking at her wistfully as if he may still be dreaming. Miss Thornton was inelegantly sprawled in the seat across from them, half of the pins in her hair fallen loose.

“I'm sorry I jumped, that was the first time I've woken in a man's arms. I was rather disoriented and startled.” 

“I should have woken you earlier, but the prospect of holding you while you slept was too tempting to resist. I must have dozed off myself.”

“I daresay that was the most comfortable nap I've had on a train.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it, you're always welcome in my arms,” John said with a self-satisfied smile. Such a smirk could not be left unquestioned.

“If I recall correctly, the last time I had my arms around your neck you shrugged me off and told me to go away.”

“You were placing yourself between me and a sea of angry strikers out for my blood, you could have been killed!” John said incredulously.

“As could you, and I was trying to prevent that.” 

His features softened at that. He took up her hand and asked: “Will you now allow me to thank you for saving my life?”

“I suppose I'll allow it if I must,” she replied with a quirk of her lips.

They were gravitating towards each other and another kiss was imminent when Miss Thornton piped up. “The both of you were a pair of fools that day. _And_ you left the doors unbarred when you ran out, they could have come and murdered us all!” 

John rolled his eyes. “You were in no danger Fanny.” He dropped his arm, sighed, and turned to his sister. “I thought you were napping.” 

“And so I was until you started quarreling. I even let you sleep on when I woke up.”

Margaret had been comfortable with the idea of sleeping in John's arms when it was just the two of them, but she was mortified to know they were observed. “Where are we?” She asked looking out the window, partly out of curiosity but largely to change the topic.

John looked about him. “I'd say about twenty minutes out from Milton.”

“Oh dear, we ought to make ourselves presentable.” She looked at Miss Thornton's disheveled locks and surmised that hers were in a similar state. “Miss Thornton, would you mind assisting me with my hair? I can assist you with yours. Edith and I used to spend hours experimenting with each other's hair.”

Fanny brightened. “Oh! Yes please, Miss Hale,” she clapped her hands like an excited child. “You know, I always wanted to have a sister to do such activities with!” She said this with a conspiratorial wink at Margaret. The rest of the ride was passed in girlish giggles as Margaret and Fanny – as she now insisted to be called – repaired each other's hair while John watched contentedly.


	9. Confessions

_Monday October 13, 1851_

Hannah Thornton sat in her drawing room waiting for good news. She had expected her son and daughter back the previous evening, but this delay hopefully meant that they had found an investor. The crunch of wheels in the square drew her attention and she saw, to her relief, a cab rather than a work cart pull up in front of the entrance. She saw her son emerge and left the window to order refreshments for the weary travelers. By the time she had given her orders, she heard footsteps in the hall and turned to greet them. Her face fell at the sight of Miss Hale entering the room on her son's arm wearing a sombre worried expression. Mrs. Thornton had no idea why Miss Hale was here with her children, but having seen the state of Mrs. Hale the previous day, she assumed that was the cause.

“What has happened?” She addressed her son.

“Mother,” John broke into a broad grin that was more unsettling to Mrs. Thornton than the sombre faces, “Margaret has agreed to marry me!”

She turned her steely glare on the girl who had come to steal away her son. “So, you've changed your mind have you? Again!”

“Mother,” John said, a warning in his tone. But Mrs. Thornton was too protective of her son to let this go without an explanation.

“He wasn't good enough for you then, but he'll do now? What has changed.”

Miss Hale assumed that haughty air that Mrs. Thornton despised and replied, “I will own that I acted poorly when Mr. Thornton first proposed, but I do not regret refusing him then.” Mrs. Thornton saw her son wince and it fortified her steel will. “At that point I didn't understand him, I misjudged his feelings and my own. I had exerted what meager means I had during the riot to protect him out of an innate sense of justice because it was the right thing to do. I had no intentions of 'catching' him, yet I discovered as soon as I awoke that gossip was already spreading.” Mrs. Thornton saw her son cast a steely glare in her daughter's direction and realized that Fanny was the one who shared that information with her as well. 

“I had no greater motivation to accept your son at that juncture other than to gain his fortune or to save my reputation, neither of which would have been fair to a man in love. Last evening,” Miss Hale paused and directed a tender gaze on John, who was beaming back at her. “Last evening, we each had a chance to examine our feelings and explain them to each other. This time I accepted his offer because I love him and he loves me.”

Mrs. Thornton's brow furrowed, she was having a hard time following the time line. “You met in London then?”

“Aye, Margaret even helped us get an investor for Marlborough Mills.” 

It would be easier for Mrs. Thornton to maintain her anger if John didn't look so happy. But her anger was already morphing into disappointment that she'd no longer be first in her son's affections, and it wouldn't be fair to throw that into the conversation. “You better sit down and tell me about this investor then,” she conceded and gestured to the tea service.

“I'm sorry mother, I will tell you all about it this evening. We must go now, the cab is waiting.” She hadn't expected that Miss Hale would physically take him away from her so soon and it stung. “I must speak to Mr. Hale.”

Her gaze shifted to Miss Hale. “You haven't been home yet?” A small amount of pity emerged for Miss Hale. “You don't know?”

Miss Hale's face went ashen and she responded tremulously, “Mother?”

“I saw her yesterday, she could barely speak. She asked me to...” it was too much to concede to Margaret Hale right now that she had agreed to advise her as a daughter, but the girl deserved to know the truth about her mother “... well, she said she was dying.”

The poor girl faltered and would have fallen if John hadn't been there to catch her. Mrs. Thornton sighed, “you must go.” She watched her son help his fiancée out the door and it felt like he took a bit of her life, her purpose with him. 

As soon as the cab had left she rounded on Fanny. “What happened in London?” Fanny launched into a gushing review of the sights she'd seen in her short visit to town. Mrs. Thornton had no patience for Fanny's nonsense at the moment and cut her off. “Never mind all of that, you may talk about the exhibition later. How did you meet Miss Hale in London and more importantly, how did they come to be engaged?”

“Well!” Exclaimed Fanny in a pet, “I was only two displays at the exhibition away from where we met Miss Hale. John was giving a presentation to a group of investors at the exhibition when who should walk up but Miss Hale! She and John got into an argument about not knowing each other, or presuming to know each other, or some such thing, so I decided to intervene with Miss Lattimer. Then Margaret's other suitor, Mr. Lennox came up and started needling John, and before I knew it we were in one large group of people all staring at each other awkwardly. We were all about to walk away and John was ready to hustle me off to the next train home when Lady Wentworth – one of the people who was listening to John's presentation – expressed an interest in John's factory. Apparently she was already acquainted with Mrs. Shaw, so she invited all of us to dinner. Oh Mother! You should have seen her house! It was so grand and elegant, though the Lady herself was shockingly under dressed for a baroness.”

“Fanny! You're veering off course.”

Fanny huffed, but continued: “Alright, before dinner, Lord and Lady Wentworth got to telling the story of how they met and fell in love. Only, she had broken their engagement so they spent eight whole years separated and breaking their hearts. Well, all through the story John and Margaret are making calf eyes at each other. You should have seen it when Lord Wentworth said something about a blow to the head causing him to realize his feelings, John nearly smashed his teacup! I think Lord and Lady Wentworth knew exactly what they were doing, because at one point his Lordship asked John straight out what he would do if he found out his love was returned but he was in a crowded room and John looked like he wanted to leap across the room and claim Margaret!”

“Strangers meddling where they're not wanted.” Mrs. Thornton muttered.

“Well, at dinner, I was sat next to the handsome Henry Lennox. But he spent the whole meal either flirting with Anne Lattimer or staring at Miss Hale – which vexed me greatly! So I had nothing better to do than watch the others. All through the soup course John and Margaret were talking quietly and staring at each other. At one point they both stopped talking and just smiled like fools at each other for a full five minutes! I swear! That must be when he proposed.”

“At the dinner table?” Mrs. Thornton asked, incensed.

“Just so! Who would ever think stuffy old John would ever be so romantic!” Mrs. Thornton kept her ideas about the romance of proposing at the dinner table to herself. “Anyway, then Lady Wentworth started asking about the mill and the conditions of the workers and all that. John gave some boring answers. But then Margaret started talking about her friendship with the workers and – you'd never guess – but that just made her ladyship start directing her questions toward Margaret instead of John. And now, her ladyship is going to invest a lot of money in Marlborough Mills but only if some of the money is used to build a dining hall and school for the hands!”

“What nonsense! Useless frills that do nothing to the profit of the mill. But then, she may spend her money how she chooses and if it gets us out of trouble, I suppose it must be done.”

“Oh! And Margaret is going to talk to the union leaders about it! Something about better relations with the hands and Margaret having a better chance at getting their help.”

“Working with the union!”

“I know! And after they nearly killed her and all!”

“That girl is going to bring us nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, I don't know. I've never seen John so happy as he's been all day today. And she _is_ accomplished!”

“But I heard her myself say that she couldn't play well.”

“It was all modesty! She played a duet with her cousin and it was so impressive I wanted to cry! Did you know she was raised in London with a governess and London masters and all? And she fixed my hair in the train, see how fashionable it is?” Fanny paused to preen and model her new hairstyle.

Mrs. Thornton let Fanny drivel on now about her trip. As she'd heard most of the particulars that Fanny was able to give, she let her mind wander to the revelations of the day. John was engaged. To _that woman!_ John was besotted, Miss Hale was determined, Fanny was charmed. There was nothing she could do but grieve her losses. If she were honest, she'd been second in her son's affections for some time now. How was she to bear becoming second in her own home? And these changes to the mill have Miss Hale's stamp all over them!

~~~

Margaret scarcely registered anything from when she left Mrs. Thornton's parlor until she entered into her mother's room. Then she took in everything at once: Her mother's pale face, the quiver to her voice, the tremor to her hands, the labored breathing, her cough, Dixon's gentle tutting as she tried to feed her mother beef tea, the various medicine jars and powder envelopes scattered on the table, the drawn curtains, the sickly sweet stench of laudanum that hung in the room. “Mama.” Margaret breathed a sigh of relief because for all of those observations, the most important one was that her mother was still alive.

“Margaret!” Mama said faintly, “but … you're in London.”

“I met Mr. Thornton and his sister in London at the exhibition. Since they were coming home today, I returned with them. I missed home.” She dissembled a bit in order to spare her mother's feelings. She had scarcely been gone a week and her mother had deteriorated so fast. Thank heavens – or John – that she had come home early. “I have so many exciting things to tell you!”

Dixon gave over her seat to Margaret. “Was the … exhibition as wonderful … and exotic as it sounded?” Mama asked between labored breaths.

“Yes, every bit and more. But the most exciting news is not about the exhibition at all.” Margaret could scarcely wait. She felt as if her mother could slip away any second and she could not bear to not share her news. “Mr. Thornton and I are to be married!”

Mama rallied a bit at this news, “Mr. Thornton? He's … such a kind, thoughtful … man!”

“He is.”

“But Margaret, you … always seemed to ... well to dislike him.”

“That is all past Mama. You know, I believe I was somehow transferring all of my prejudices against Milton and manufacturing, and cotton into my idea of Mr. Thornton without actually taking stock of the man in front of me. Once I came to understand him, I realized that I love him dearly.”

“Oh Margaret! I'm … so happy for you!” The news seemed to give Mama some added energy because she surged up to embrace her daughter.

“He is with Papa now.” 

“I should like … to see him before … he goes. You must … run down and tell him to come up … before he leaves, then come … back and tell me all of the … wonderful things you saw in London.” Such a long speech seemed to steal her mother's wind and she broke down in a fit of coughing.

“I shall Mama,” Margaret said with tears in her eyes. “I will be back shortly. Now, mind Dixon and try finish your beef tea while I'm away.”

Margaret exited the room and quietly closed the door. “Oh! I should not have left her—wicked daughter that I am!” moaned forth Margaret. She indulged in a moment of grief, leaning her head against the wall before she dried her eyes and went to the study, it wouldn't do to show her weakness before Papa.

~~~

As soon as they entered the house, Margaret had hastened upstairs to see her mother. His heart broke for the pain in store for her. He would do anything to shield her from pain, but he had no control over death. He continued on to Mr. Hale's study and knocked. Mr. Hale was surprised to see him.

“John, this is a surprise, back from London already? This isn't our day for reading, is it?”

“No, no, Mr. Hale, I have just now returned from London. I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter at the Great Exhibition and a dinner party following. As my sister and I were returning today, and Miss Hale was anxious to return home, we accompanied her back. She's gone up to see Mrs. Hale.”

“What? Margaret back from London so soon? I'm glad of it. Thank you John, you've been a good friend to us during my wife's illness.”

“I hope,” John paused, it was hard to find the words for such a momentous request. “I hope to become much more than that.” Mr. Hale's bewildered stare was not encouraging, but he must carry it through. “I've come today to ask for your permission to marry your daughter.” _Did that sound like a business proposal?_ He thought to himself, maybe Margaret had some basis for her former prejudices.

“John, dear fellow, of course I give you my permission, there's no better fellow than you...” John beamed at the praise “... but I'm afraid Margaret has never liked you.” He wished that people would stop bring that up _every_ time.

“Mr. Hale, I saw quite a bit of Miss Hale in London and her opinion of me has changed. I have offered for her and she has accepted. I love her. I too find it hard to believe at times, but she says she loves me as well and we must trust her to know her own heart.”

Mr. Hale broke into a smile and offered his hand. “Well then, John, I welcome you to the family with my blessing.”

“Thank you sir.” John paused to enjoy the moment. Unfortunately, he had a difficult topic to broach next and he wasn't quite sure how to raise it. “How is Mrs. Hale?” He asked with true concern. He saw the dark cloud sweep over Mr. Hale's face, obliterating his smile.

“Maria is... Margaret, Dr. Donaldson, even Maria herself seem to think... It's not good.” 

“I'm sorry.” John said, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. He sighed and forged ahead with what he had to say. “Margaret is rather distraught about her mother. She's told me how happy and loving her family is, and I believe she would like her whole family with her when she marries.” Nor did he wish to wait through three to six months of mourning to marry Margaret. He wanted to be there for her in the darkest times, not two miles away at Marlborough Mills.

Mr. Hale shook off the cloud of grief far enough to ask: “what are you proposing?” 

Just at that moment a soft rap at the door announced Margaret's arrival. She wore a cheerful face when she greeted her father, but John could tell that she was masking her grief. He reached out his hand to her and she grabbed it and held tightly, though her strain did seem to ebb slightly at the contact. He hated to see her in pain and if he could ease it in any way he would.

“Margaret love, your father and I were just talking about your mother. I know how much you love her, how much it would mean to you for her to be at our wedding.” Margaret stifled a small sob, as if she had yet to consider that she might not. “How would you feel about getting married straight away, this week?” Margaret's eyes met his, brimming with tears and gratitude.

“Surely not,” said Mr. Hale, “surely it is better to wait until Maria is better.” The man was clearly having trouble grasping the reality of the situation. But just yesterday Mrs. Hale had told his mother she was dying. In his experience, the lady was more apt to downplay her illness than otherwise, so this open acknowledgement should be taken seriously.

“Oh, but it would give her something to look forward to, to plan, to raise her spirits during her illness” replied Margaret. “I have never aspired to a grand wedding, indeed all I want is to put on my favorite dress and be surrounded by all of the people I love.”

“Well, shall we see if Maria likes the idea then?” Conceded Mr. Hale. 

“Yes, I was sent down to fetch you.” She turned to John, “Mother does not want you to leave without visiting her.”

As Mr. Hale led the way out of the study, Margaret held him back for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I'm sure this won't be the wedding you've envisioned.”

He folded her in his arms. “As long as you are the woman by my side it will be.” He dropped a quick kiss atop her head and ushered her up the stairs. “Besides, I will do anything in my power to make you, and by extension your mother, happy.”

“I don't deserve you!” Margaret cried and stopped on the step above him. “Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!”

“Not good enough! Don't mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness.”

She turned toward him, her eyes at a level with his and gave him a teary smile. “I suppose we will just have to be contented to be content regardless of our respective merits.” 

He couldn't resist the urge to lean forward and kiss her. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I you,” she said tenderly.

“Margaret? John?” Mr. Hale's voice drifted down the stairs to them, breaking the magical moment. 

Margaret gave him a sad smile then replied, “coming father.”

The lingering vestiges of playfulness from their tender moment on the stairwell seemed to evaporate as they entered the sick room. The elegant lady he had come to know had whithered over the last days. She had lost weight and her breathing was labored. Even though her pale face was haggard and pained, her sunken eyes shone with happiness. “Mr. Thornton … I'm so happy! I know you will … take care of our girl.” Her pauses for breath did nothing to diminish the touching joy of her speech.

“I promise that I will, to the best of my abilities,” John replied with the solemnity of a vow.

“And you will … marry soon?” He did not fail to note the entreaty in her eyes. 

“Aye, we will have to consult with my Mother and procure a special license but I believe we can be married here within the week.”

“Only think Margaret, … Frederick may even be here … in time for your wedding!” John cast a confused look at his fiancée.

“My brother. He lives in Cadiz, I have written to him urging him to come, but his situation is … complicated.” _Brother? Why have I never heard of him before?_ His curiosity may be aroused, but the plea in Margaret's eyes warned him not to push further at the moment. She would tell him all in due time.

“I must return to the mill, but I will stop and see to the marriage license first.” He turned to Margaret, “will you walk with me to the church?”

Her eyes looked conflicted, “but Mama...”

“Go Margaret … I'm afraid all of this … excitement has quite … worn me out. I will … rest for a while … then you may … tell me of all the … wonderful news from … London.”

“If that is what you wish Mama, I shan't be gone long.”

~~~

Margaret could breathe easier outside of the stifling air of the sick room. They were carefully weaving their way through the vendors in the street outside their lodgings and even the foul air from the butcher and the fish monger was preferable to the sick room. Her feelings were rioting out of control. Her mother was so much worse than she had been even a week ago. While Dr. Donaldson had informed her that her mother was dying before she left, it hadn't really settled in as the truth until she saw her today. She had lost a whole week of her mother's precious remaining time. And yet, amidst the grief and remorse, she could not repine the London trip. John was the only light she had in her life at the moment amidst the suffering. Heaven knows what would have happened between them had they not met in London, had Lady Wentworth not orchestrated that improbable dinner party. Would the gulf between them merely have widened until it was unsurmountable? His hand squeezed hers where it rested on his arm. She met his worried gaze.

“Oh, you need not worry about me, I am well,” she assured him with false cheerfulness. 

His brows knit. “I understand your need to conceal your feelings from your father, the poor man is going through a hell I can only imagine and he needs your strength. But please don't feel you need to hide your grief from me. I can not help but worry about you.”

“She looked so frail, a mere shadow of herself.” Margaret's brave facade cracked, her eyes pooled with tears and the words began pouring out. “When I was eight, I was sent to London to live with my Aunt and share Edith's education. I loved my cousin and aunt, but the highlight of my life was always my trips home to Helstone. Perhaps because my primary home was in London, Helstone seemed a paradise, my parents seemed infallible, immortal, and invariably happy. Over the last year I've had to face several home truths regarding my parents fallibility, but nothing is so hard as facing their mortality.” 

“There is nothing I can do or say to ease this burden, but I can tell you from experience that you can endure it. You have the comfort of being able to say goodbye to your mother.” She knew that he had not had this luxury with his father.

“Yes, and you saw the joy in her face when we spoke of the wedding. You gave her that.” She smiled up at him in gratitude.

~~~

If anyone had told him a year, a month, even two days ago that Margaret Hale would smile up at him with adoration he would have thought them mad. But here they were, walking to the church to obtain a license. His bleak colorless world was now open and alive with possibilities for the future. “You have given me everything by accepting my hand, the least I can do is share that joy with your family.”

“And to have my family with me, _all_ of my family, is something I never thought possible,” she said with a small smile. “Oh dear, I suppose I owe you an explanation about Frederick.”

“I have been wondering why your father never told me he had a son.”

“I suspect it is because you are a magistrate.” _No._ He tamped down the worst suspicions. He could not believe that Margaret's brother, that Mr. Hale's son was a criminal. They were the most morally upright people he knew. “Fred was in the Navy, you see. But six or seven years ago he was a lieutenant under a tyrannical captain. He had impossible standards and beat the sailors who did not meet them and used the threat of violence and humiliation to push them to dangerous extremes. One day a man died under this tyranny. Frederick had no choice but to act.  It was not for himself, or his own injuries, he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain Reid in defense of others, and so it went on from bad to worse; and you see, most of the sailors stuck by Frederick. In the end, they put the captain and those officers who remained loyal to him in a boat and left them. The navy labeled him the ring-leader, a mutineer, a traitor. He's not been back to England since for fear of a court martial.” All of this was said in a low, despairing tone.

“Your innate defense against injustice is a family trait I see,” he said with a sad smile. Fighting the hurt that they hadn't trusted him, he added: “you must have known I would not blame him, or turn him in.” 

“No, I know that you are a just man. But as you are also a magistrate it could have put you in a very awkward position. We could not have presumed so far on your _friendship,_ but now you are _family,_ ” she looked down and blushed, “or you very soon will be.” 

Any disappointment he had felt dissipated with that word. _Family._ “Yes, very soon.” He smiled down at her with love and admiration, his Margaret. Slowly dragging his mind away from her, he focused on the tale she had just told. He knew the punishment for mutiny well enough, there would be little he could do to save Frederick Hale's life if he was apprehended. “Do you know for certain that he's coming?”

“My mother plead so fervently and cried so bitterly that it was her dying wish to see her son again. She would not calm until she saw me write the letter and sent me out straight away to post it. I've had no response from him, but I'm certain he will come.”

“It will be risky.”

“I know, but he deserved to know about Mama. If you were in his position, would you not come?”

He thought about his mother. His strong, confident, capable mother reduced to Mrs. Hale's current state and his heart ached. “Aye,” he said somberly, “I would do anything to comfort her.”

They fell into silence, both reflecting on grim thoughts but comforted by the presence of the other. As they walked, John noticed the speculative looks from others as they progressed down the street. He had walked with ladies on his arm before – Anne Lattimer seemed rather fond of perching herself there – but this was different. He knew that his manner towards Margaret was different, reverent, reciprocated. The keenest of their observers seemed to pick up on this. Their marriage would be sudden, that couldn't be helped under the circumstances, but a bit of gossip beforehand may work in their favor toward smoothing the way. Fortunately, Margaret appeared too wrapped up in her grief to notice. 

They reached the church in Crampton where the Hales had been faithful parishioners. The parson knew and respected the family, and was well aware of Mrs. Hale's declining condition. Under normal circumstances, he would not even consider performing such a hasty ceremony – in a private home no less! But as it was he could not deny a dying woman the comfort of seeing her daughter settled nor a bride the comfort of her mother's presence. He assured them he would contact the bishop directly to obtain the proper license. The date was settled for Friday, enough time for family to travel up, but soon for Mrs. Hale's sake.

“I must go to the mill now, I've much to catch up on. But a strange, insistent part of me doesn't want to let you out of my sight.” John said as they walked back towards the entrance of the church.

Margaret laughed, “I believe I would become quite the distraction lurking about the corners of your office.”

John smiled at the thought, “it is debatable whether your presence or your absence is more of a distraction.” She blushed and averted her eyes in just that way of hers that he loved and he suddenly wished that they were walking down that aisle as man and wife rather than merely betrothed. Friday could not come soon enough.

“I'm afraid you will just have to endure my absence for the afternoon, I really must return to Mama.”

“Yes, you must,” he sighed, “and I have to catch up on my usual mill business as well as plan our new endeavors. Do you think you will have the chance to talk to Higgins tomorrow while your mother rests?”

“Oh yes, I wouldn't want to neglect our project, or endanger the investment,” she responded frankly. 

John's heart swelled at her concern in his business. She would put her mark on Marlborough Mills just as she had on the rest of his life. “If you bring him by the office around two we can talk over details.”

“I shall do my best to bring him around. He can be somewhat stubborn.” John fought the urge to roll his eyes at this understatement.

As they had reached the doors of the church, he lifted her hand to his lips and murmured, “until tomorrow then, my love.” 

“Until tomorrow,” she replied somewhat breathlessly while holding his gaze. Reluctantly, he opened the doors and the world burst upon them. They were forced to go their separate ways but neither strayed far from the other's mind.


	10. A Business Proposal

_Tuesday October 14, 1851_

Margaret hurried along the familiar path to the Princeton district. Yesterday, all conversation at the Hale household had been focused on the upcoming wedding. It wasn't until this morning when Margaret mentioned her planned visit to Nicholas that she remembered to tell her parents about Lady Wentworth's investment and their plans for the dining hall and school. As the pastor's wife, Mrs. Hale had been active in running the parish school in Helstone. She had immediately rushed – with all of the haste and vigor possible to anyone as ill as she was – to impart all of the wisdom she could on her daughter regarding the management of a school. She was rather knowledgeable on the subject, and as Margaret was keen to hang on every word of wisdom her mother was willing to bestow while she had the breath to do so, their conversation had lasted far longer than either realized. By the time Margaret made it to Princeton, she would have scarcely half an hour to convince Nicholas of the merits of the scheme before they must set out for Marlborough Mills to meet with John.

She was greeted fondly by Nicholas and Mary, who was eager to hear any news of the splendors of London that Margaret was willing to share. “I am sorry Mary, I shall not have time for such revelations today. I have come on business.”

“Business?” Chuckled Nicholas.

“That's right, it's a business proposal for you Nicholas.”

“And what important business might yo' have wi' me?”

“You see, in London, I attended a dinner party that Mr. Thornton was also present at. Our hosts, Lord and Lady Wentworth were interested in investing in Marlborough Mills. No, please Nicholas,” Margaret scolded, “allow me to finish before you object. Lady Wentworth is interested in investing in Marlborough Mills in order to improve the conditions of the laborers. We came up with some ideas for projects to do so, but I suggested that we consult the union on how best to implement them. Would you be willing to help, Nicholas?”

He stared at her incredulously for a moment. “And Thornton agreed to this?”

“He did.”

“I canna find work since t'strike without forsakin' the union, and yet Thornton's willin' ta talk wi' union leaders?”

“Have you been to Marlbourough Mills about work then?”

“Aye, Th' o'erlooker bid me go and be d—— d.”

“Then you've not spoken to Mr. Thornton?”

“Such a chap as me is not like to see the measter.”

“Well, you are very likely to do so today, as we've an appointment with him at two, if you're willing to hear us out.”

“Us?” Nicholas turned his steady eyes on her, “How came yo' t'be meddling 'twixt master and man? I dunna see as tis any of yo'r business.”

Margaret blushed and responded with far more confidence than she'd had when outlying their proposal, “Mr. Thornton and I are to be married. I dare say there are some who would still consider it meddling for a wife to take an interest in her husband's business, but I assure you Mr. Thornton is not one of them.”

Mary cried out in excitement and gave her an awkward hug. Much to Margaret's surprise, Nicholas laughed. “My but yo'r a queer lass! Yo're getin' married to th'master an yo' dunnot say a word afore titterin on about business!”

“Well, I didn't think it as pressing,” Margaret laughed. “Do you know, you're the first people I've told outside of family and the parson.”

“Oh miss!” Cried Mary in excitement.

“So, Nicholas, will you consider our plan?”

He stared at her in uncertainty for a moment and Margaret was nearly certain he would deny her. Finally, he responded, “I do it for yo'r sake, Miss Hale, and it's first time in my life as e'er I give way to a woman.”

“All the more do I thank you,” said Margaret, smiling. “Though I don't believe you: I believe you have just given way to wife and daughter as much as most men.”

As they walked to Marlborough Mills, Margaret filled him in on their ideas for the dining hall and school. Margaret was just as unconscious of the surprised looks of passerby today as she had been the previous day. The gossip mills of Milton churned just as tirelessly as the cotton mills, and soon the whole town was speculating about the renegade parson's daughter who was out walking with a handsome young mill master one day and a union ringleader the next!

~~~

John Thornton was having a difficult time readjusting to his life. He had returned yesterday afternoon to nearly two day's worth of back work from his trip to London. He had been tempted to remain in his office late to make up the difference, but he owed it to his mother to go home to dinner. She had been incensed at the idea of a rushed wedding – how would it look for one of the pillars of Milton society to marry quietly and hastily without even inviting the other masters? He'd appeased her somewhat with the prospect of a grand dinner party to celebrate the wedding at a later date. Nonetheless, she spent dinner berating Margaret. Every attempt on his part to defend his betrothed only seemed to fuel his mother's ire. Eventually, he had no recourse but to storm out of the room and back to his office.

He had worked late, woken early and was nearly caught up when word came in that one of the spinning frames was broken. One of the Irish hands had loaded it improperly then proceeded to use it for a shift and a half, wasting a good deal of cotton on useless thread and eventually breaking the machine. _As if we weren't far enough behind!_ He and the overseer had just finished repairing the machine when he walked into his office in his shirtsleeves, disheveled, sweaty, and covered in machine grease. 

He was having a bad day. But then there she was: seated regally in the chair in front of his desk, laughing at something that Higgins had said, brightening his world. He smiled and breathed her name. When she looked up, he felt a slight tinge of fear at her perusal of his state. She had but just begun to see him as a gentleman and now – what a fright he must look! But then she looked up and gave him a serene smile. He wished Higgins to the devil, wanting only to have Margaret to himself. 

“John! May I introduce you to Nicholas Higgins, Nicholas, this is Mr. Thornton.” 

John gave a slight nod and repeated, “Higgins.”

“Master.” Higgins touched his hand to his forehead in deference. 

“Has Miss Hale filled you in on what we are looking to do?”

“Aye, tho I canna say as I believe it till yo' say so. Yo've broke t'strike with them knobsticks o' yourn that did na know weft fro' warp an now yo're willin t'work with t'union?”

“You don't want impudence, that's very clear,” John responded hotly. “No, I've not much respect for the union after the violence your strikers brought down on me and mine.”

“Fro' what I reckon, there was but one injury on yo'r side, while yo'r soldiers injured dozens o'starvin' strikers, an' some o' them were women. The union leaders did no wish for violence. We were not weak men such as the rioters, but steady thoughtful men; good hands, and good citizens, who were friendly to law and judgment, and would uphold order; who only wanted their right wage.”

“Yes, your _right wage_ whether or not the masters could afford to pay it.” John was in no mood for this confrontation. He should have known this would never work. “And at any rate, as the leaders of the union, you incited the strike, the actions of your strikers are on your heads.”

“Just as your actions on the day of the riot were on my head, right?” Margaret's reproachful voice sliced through his ire as nothing else could. “After all, I was the one who told you to go down and face them. And yet, when I tried to correct my mistake, I seem to recall you resented my attempts.” And there _she_ was, the headstrong Margaret of days past, quick to find fault with him and slow to concede a point. They'd been getting on so well that he'd almost forgotten that this Margaret would make her appearance again at some juncture. 

“That is not the same,” he struggled to soften his tone, “you urged me to treat them as men and they proved to be animals none the less.”

“It seems to me that the union urged the men to be noble, but were unable to control a small fraction of the turnouts. Much as I urged you to be compassionate and was unable to inspire anything more than defiance in you. Therefore, by your model, I must have earned any punishment I received.” 

John paled at the thought, “they could have killed you.”

“That were you?” Higgins asked with a start. 

John rounded on him. “Aye, your strikers turned on a lady who was only trying to help them!” Higgins winced and drew a weary hand down his face

“As I still am.” Margaret interjected. “Now, gentlemen, I believe we've had quite enough of this argument. Allow me to distill the finer points. On the one hand, the union was trying to improve the lives of the workers to relieve them of the burdens of hunger, exposure to the elements, and unsafe living conditions through the most expedient means. Higher wages. Is that correct?” She paused and looked toward Higgins, who gave her a nod. “On the other hand, not all of the masters were willfully withholding money for personal gain but could honestly not afford to pay more. Particularly when those masters had already invested money in the wheel and new machinery to improve the conditions of their workers, yes?” She looked at him and John nodded. “Now, what we are discussing today are alternate ways to address the same issues with the capital available to us. I have high hopes for this scheme, but it will never work if the pair of you continue in this manner.” 

John was not in the habit of being dictated to in his own office but he could scarcely abandon a plan they had in fact orchestrated together. Especially when Margaret was stood so regal and resolute, glaring down on them like an avenging Boudica. “Of course my dear. There's little point belaboring past grievances.”

Higgins replied “Aye Miss Margaret, I'm willin' ta try.”

“Excellent!” Margaret smiled at them, John tried to tamp down his jealousy at the fact that her smiles were evenly dispersed between himself and Higgins. “Now the first step is Nicholas himself, if he is to be our union reference, he needs a job.” 

She looked at him expectantly, but this was too much for even her to ask. “I might as well put a firebrand into the midst of the cotton-waste.”

“At the moment, Nicholas is valuable to this scheme _because_ he is well known and respected amongst the hands, they know that he will look out for their best interests. We need him if we want our plans to work. What will happen if he can not find work? If he is forced to move away to find a job?” Margaret's logic was sound, and John was beginning to see the value in the suggestion. Until Higgins opened his mouth again.

“I'd promise yo', measter, I'd not speak a word as could do harm, if so be yo' did right by us; and I'd promise more: I'd promise that when I seed yo' going wrong, and acting unfair, I'd speak to yo' in private first; and that would be a fair warning.”

“Upon my word, you don't think small beer of yourself! Hamper has had a loss of you. How came he to let you and your wisdom go?” John seethed at the idea of this man telling him how to run his business. “I'll not give you work.”

~~~

The statement rang through the office like a death knell for Margaret's hopes. Apparently all of the ideals that he had agreed to in London were tainted by the Milton air. Had it all been a show? A ploy to attract investors? A desire to please Margaret when he was still basking in the glow of her acceptance? Had her influence really been so fleeting? After all, he hadn't actually agreed with her assessment of the union earlier, only agreed to leave old grievances behind.

Nicholas interrupted her melancholy thoughts. “I hear, sir. I would na ha' troubled yo', but that I were bid to come, by one as seemed to think yo'd getten some soft place in yo'r heart. Hoo were mistook, and I were misled. But I'm not the first man as is misled by a woman.”

Was she mistaken? _I suppose it's better to discover you were wrong about a man's heart mere days before the wedding than after,_ she thought gloomily. “John,” she touched his arm gently, unable to keep the disappointment out of her tone, “was I wrong? In London you spoke of your desire for men and masters to learn to live together, to bleed strikes of their bitterness. This is what drew me to you that day, it is also what led Lady Wentworth to invest in Marlborough Mills. Indeed, this whole meeting is meant as a bridge between you as a master and your workers through the union. Will you allow your own bitterness to destroy that before it begins?”

He let out a sigh and covered her hand with his. “No,” he replied tenderly to Margaret and she released a breath she was scarcely aware she'd been holding. Then, turning to Higgins he said in a brusque tone, “there's a job here for you if you'll take it.”

“Yo'll not stop me fro' payin' in to the union?”

“How you spend your money is no affair of mine as long as you don't go making mischief.”

“Yo'll not be sorry, I'm a good hand, measter, and a steady man.” Higgins held out his hand and John shook it to seal the agreement.

“Well then, shall we begin our plans then?” Asked Margaret in a happier tone. Although there were occasional bouts of pique or bluster, they managed to spend the next couple of hours drawing up plans for the dining hall and school.

When John was walking her home that evening, he squeezed her hand gently and renewed their thread of conversation from the day prior. “For the record, if today is any indication, your presence is far less of a distraction than your absence. You were wonderful today my love, and you made me better as well.”


	11. Haste to the Wedding

_Crampton, October 16, 1851_

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Margaret spent most of her days with her mother and Dixon working on wedding plans. In spite of Margaret's desire to simply wear her favorite dress, her mother caught on the idea of Margaret wearing _her_ gown. Anything that could be done to make Mama happy of course would be done, so Margaret and Dixon set to modifying the gown. As they worked in Mrs. Hale's chamber, they happily chatted with Mama when she was awake and quietly stitched while she rested. Margaret delivered the promised stories of London, of the Great Exhibition, and of all of the nuances and follies of her relationship with John. Mama in turn reminisced on her own wedding and courtship. Margaret treasured each of these stories away in her mind.

Margaret had written express to Aunt Shaw and Edith informing them of her hasty marriage preparations and the reason behind it. Edith had written back an effusive letter. As the course of true love in Edith's case had run remarkably smooth, she was living vicariously through Margaret's _romantic tragedy._ After waxing poetic for several pages about special licenses, a secret parlor ceremony, and the endurance of true love through hardship and grief, she cheerfully outlined all of the flowers and treats she would bring with her from London to ensure that Margaret's wedding was everything lovely. 

Aunt Shaw's note was far more terse. She wrote the minimal congratulations required for civility and made a point of emphasizing that Henry was far too cast down to join them on their foray into the northern climate. For all of Aunt Shaw's bluster about her own disappointment over a marriage of convenience and effusions about Edith marrying for love, she was doing a rather poor job at hiding her displeasure in Margaret's choice. Thankfully, Aunt Shaw was not her guardian, and therefore could do little else but bluster.

They would be here tomorrow. _Tomorrow._ Margaret had the odd sensation that she'd been waiting both forever and no time at all for this wedding. Her emotions had been so violent and in such extremes that it was rather difficult for her to alight on feeling either utter joy at her love or utter despair over her mother's declining health. At the same time she was utterly exhausted. The week had been full of planning: for the wedding, for the changes to the mill, for the possibility of Frederick's visit. With this last in mind, they had allowed Martha a holiday to visit her mother. In her place, Mary Higgins was to come help in the kitchens. All must be arranged so as to conceal Frederick as much as possible. Margaret felt that she had been quite busy from the moment they stepped off of the train. 

She was sitting in the parlor in this state of nervous anticipation and finishing affixing some lace to a hair comb for her veil when she heard a rapid knock at the door. Dixon blustered into the room “I suppose it's all well and good for you that Mr. Thornton thinks he can come a visiting at all hours now that you're engaged.” Their faithful servant had not scrupled to show her disappointment in the upcoming marriage whenever she was out of Mrs. Hale's hearing. Margaret smiled and cheerily offered to answer the door herself. He had been visiting her each night after the mill closed. When she opened the door, she was momentarily confused as the tall man silhouetted against the street lamps was certainly not John. 

“Is this Mr. Hale's?” said he, in a clear, full, delicate voice.

Margaret trembled all over; at first she did not answer. In a moment she sighed out, “Frederick!” and stretched out both her hands to catch his, and draw him in.

"Oh, Margaret!" said he, holding her off by her shoulders, after they had kissed each other, as if even in that darkness he could see her face, and read in its expression a quicker answer to his question than words could give,—

"My mother! is she alive?"

"Yes, she is alive, dear, dear brother! She—as ill as she can be she is; but alive! She is alive!"

"Thank God!" said he.

"Papa is utterly prostrate with this great grief."

"You expect me, don't you?"

"No, we have had no letter."

"Then I have come before it. But my mother knows I am coming?"

"Oh! we all knew you would come!” She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. _Her Brother!_ Returned after so many years of exile.

~~~

All of the fear and anxiety that Frederick Hale had felt on the long solitary journey was momentarily lifted at the joy of seeing his dearest sister again after all of these years. As the initial emotions of the reunion began to ebb, he became aware of the gauzy fabric oddly strewn over his shoulder. “What's this now? I've heard lament about the Milton climate, but I should hardly think you require mosquito nets.”

“Oh! I was in such a rush to answer the door I quite forgot it was still in my hand!” Margaret's radiant smile seemed at odds with the news that had brought him to Milton. He had barely a moment to process this response when a dark brooding figure blocked the doorway and swept his gaze over them. He entered the house and hastily slammed the door shut with force. 

“What were you thinking, embracing in the doorway without even closing the door! Why anyone could have seen you!” The irate stranger yelled at his sister in a harsh whisper. Frederick instinctively shielded Margaret behind him.

“Oh dear, I fear I was overcome by emotions, as you know I haven't seen my brother in so long!” 

“Margaret!” Frederick turned on his sister, “you know how clandestine this visit is, how could you go announce it to your neighbors?”

“How could you?” Asked the stranger in a harsh tone, “If you won't take basic precautions for your own sake, I'll thank you to not endanger your sister as well! Even if you weren't recognized, do you know what damage you could have done to her reputation?”

“There are so few people in the street at this hour, I daresay nobody saw,” Margaret responded in the typical tone she used when arbitrating family disputes. The stranger only glared at Margaret until she conceded, “but you are right, we must be more careful.” The stranger nodded and his expression softened.

“Margaret, what is going on?” Frederick asked, confused.

“Fred, this is John Thornton,” she paused, sharing a tender smile with the stranger, “my fiancé. John, this is my brother Frederick.” 

“How do you do,” Mr. Thornton said in an amiable voice and held out his hand. 

Frederick was stunned. In his head, Margaret was still the happy thirteen year old who had waved him off on his departure for the navy. Her girlish greeting had done little to displace that vision. This hulking brute could not be her betrothed. He appraised Thornton longer than was polite before he realized a response was required. Reluctantly, he shook the man's hand. 

“Fred,” Margaret addressed him as she ushered him up the steps, “mother is asleep, but father will be pleased to see you. He's been so cast down about Mama that I fear he would have sunk into despair had it not been for the prospect of seeing you and the wedding. Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox will be here on the morrow. I'm so glad you made it in time!”

“In time?”

“In order to bring your mother some joy and something to look forward to, we planned the wedding for tomorrow.” The rational answer from Mr. Thornton irritated him. Margaret's last letter was less than a month old and yet she had made no mention of an engagement.

“So soon!” Frederick was taken aback, “Margaret, you've not been pressured into this have you? You know I would do anything to make Mother happy right now, but not in place of your future happiness.” 

Margaret gave him a small reproachful smile and set down the veil in the parlor. “I thought you knew me better than that, do you suppose I would be so weak willed? No, I am marrying John because I love him.” She cast a smile on her betrothed, and that man's face was transformed from the scowl that still lingered from his entrance into a lovesick grin. Unable to dismiss such conclusive evidence, Frederick wished them well.

Looking around the cramped house, Frederick cursed himself for neglecting his family. He had lamented his exile for years. The poor sailor, martyred for a noble cause, forever estranged from his home and those he loved. In absence of evidence to the contrary, it was easy for him to believe the cheery slant that Margaret put on their situation in her letters. It wasn't until he saw the abysmal circumstances here for himself that he truly felt the strain that his absence had put on his family. Had he been here in England, had he an income to share, he could have prevented this.

The small party sat in the parlor, Dixon flitting about, eager to do anything she could for him. The dear lady had always had a fondness for him. His father greeted him as warmly as could be expected under the circumstances but Frederick was saddened by the old man's despondency. While Frederick told the tale of his journey, Mr. Hale hardly said a word. When the talk turned to his mother, Mr. Hale sunk farther into his grief, rallying only to praise Mr. Thornton of the care he had shown them during Mother's illness. The only subject that seemed to rouse him was talk of the upcoming wedding. It was clear that whatever deficiencies there were in the care of his mother and sister were being addressed by this northern tradesman. It was not the match that Frederick had envisioned for his sister, but it was clear that the man doted on her. Even the tirade he had made on his entrance had been born of a wish to protect Margaret. She, at least, would be in good hands. 

After some time, the conversation had largely dwindled and Father had fallen into a peaceful doze. Mr. Thornton broached a delicate subject. “The ceremony will be small and private, in this very room. Your Harley street relations are aware of your circumstances and can be trusted, I presume?” Frederick nodded. “The only other people present will be the parson, my mother, and my sister. We must decide what to tell them.”

“Yes, now that I'm here I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world, but it would be best to minimize exposure.”

“When will the Harley Street party arrive?” Thornton asked.

“On the nine o'clock train at the Milton station.” Margaret supplied.

Thornton turned to Frederick, “I've been wondering if it might be best for you to slip out in the morning and make your way separately to the train station. If you attach yourself to the Harley Street party from the train station, we could say you were a cousin come up from London.”

“Oh, yes. Nobody would question whether I have one cousin or two,” Margaret agreed.

“It is one more trip outside of the house, and every exposure has its risks.” Frederick replied.

“True, but I am sorry to say that my sister is a rather flighty creature. I'm certain that your fashionable relations arrival will be noted by the women of Milton and Fanny will hear. If you are to be exposed to anyone outside of the present occupants of this house, an active alias may be better protection than merely attempting to hide.”

Frederick sighed, “I suppose I must be Mr. Shaw for the present then.” It would be risky, but perhaps Mr. Thornton was correct. The wedding was fortuitous in providing an excuse for extra visitors in the house. This way he could hide in plain sight.

~~~

_Friday October 17, 1851_

John drew on his years of negotiation in business to maintain his typical detachment as he alighted from his carriage at the Milton station. Margaret was too engaged in preparations to meet her relations at the station and so he was here alone. If he was concerned that he would be a spectacle in his wedding finery, he was relieved of that burden as soon as he saw Mrs. Shaw floating down the platform like a queen, casting imperious glares at anyone in her way, a small hoard of porters following in her wake tending to the various packages of wedding 'necessities' that she and Mrs. Lennox had brought from London. The Captain escorted his wife, who was fussing over the packages, but kindly thanking the porters. John noted Frederick discretely attaching himself to the tail of the group. As they arrived at the carriage, the porters and coachman began loading the packages as John greeted his new relations. He handed Mrs. Shaw and Mrs. Lennox into the carriage before greeting Captain Lennox and adding in a low voice, “Lieutenant Hale arrived last night, please play along and I'll explain in the carriage.” The captain gave him a startled look but nodded. 

“Mr. Shaw, welcome to Milton.” John addressed Frederick in a booming voice and shook his hand. From inside the carriage Mrs. Lennox gasped and Mrs. Shaw began a loud rebuttal, but the Captain made a loud display of boarding the carriage and managed to quiet them. By the time Frederick and John entered the carriage, it seemed that the two startled ladies could do little but stare in shocked silence. Thankfully the door had closed and the carriage had just begun moving when the dam broke and Mrs. Shaw loudly exclaimed “Frederick! Is that you? Oh my nerves!” Mrs. Lennox gave a high pitched squeal and launched herself into Frederick's arms.

“Aunt, Edith, I apologize for startling you, but as we've got a wedding to attend, Mr. Thornton thought it best that I assume the role of your son for the present.” Frederick said on a laugh as he set Edith away from him.

“It was best to have him seen and acknowledged rather than lurking in corners, though we will be discrete.” John added

“Sholto,” Mrs. Lennox said in a giddy voice, “allow me to present my dear cousin Frederick. He has to be careful, as you know.”

“Well, any _brother_ of Edith is a brother of mine.” Captain Lennox replied cheerily and shook Frederick's hand.

When they arrived at Crampton, John sent the carriage back to Marlborough Mills as soon as it was unloaded to fetch his mother and Fanny. The men were ushered into Mr. Hale's study. “You,” Edith said to John with the strict authority of a bridesmaid, “are not to venture upstairs until summoned. You,” she turned to Frederick, “are required for the heavy lifting,” she added with an impish smile. And so John was abandoned in the study with Captain Lennox. He could hear the sound of furniture being moved in the parlor above in preparation for the wedding. _His wedding._ In one short hour Margaret would be his wife! His feet longed to take him up the stairs to Margaret's side, so he paced the small room in order to give them some occupation as he waited. 

“Nervous?” Asked Captain Lennox with a raised brow.

John met his knowing look and responded honestly, “impatient.”

“Good man.” Captain Lennox said with a jovial slap to his shoulder, “I could not sit idly before my own wedding either. Of course, I didn't have to hear the preparations being made above me, I was safely at the church while Edith dressed at home.” The thought of Margaret dressing for their wedding in some unknown chamber above him did nothing to settle John. Captain Lennox chatted on about his own wedding. His descriptions of the never-ending commotion about trifles that his mother-in-law had created then left to be sorted by Edith and Margaret amused John enough to almost distract him from the woman upstairs. 

“Margaret is a dear girl. In situations where she can make things easier for those she loves, she is the sweetest, most obliging person you could meet.” John smiled at this characterization, he had seen it many times in her care for her parents and counted himself blessed that he had somehow won her love. “But then,” Captain Lennox continued, “if you catch her on a matter of morals, or conviction, that obliging girl turns into quite the fighter.”

“Oh, I'm well aware of her crusades,” replied John replied John with a rueful half smile, “when she first moved to Milton, Margaret saw me only as a pattern-book mill master, the kind you read about in the reform leaflets – a tyrant who takes delight in subjecting his employees to atrocities in order to line his own pockets. It took quite some time to convince her that I was a man with a soul … and a heart.” 

“And yet, here you are,” said the Captain with a smile.

Margaret's tinkling laugh drifted down to him through the floorboards and he couldn't help but smile towards it wistfully, “aye, here we are.”

“I know that Edith and my mother-in-law had hopes for Margaret in another direction, but I don't think Henry had the spirit to manage her. You, on the other hand seem quite capable.”

“Aye, though I think it's debatable which of us will be managing the other,” John smiled thinking back on their recent meeting with Higgins. “We're equally stubborn and strong willed. But, I'll not be expecting her to change on my account. How could I, when she's had me entranced from the first.”

Conversation between the two gentlemen was stilted as John settled into pacing for one of the longest hours of his life thus far.

~~~

Margaret's nerves had been sorely tested that morning, though not from anything so slight as wedding-day jitters. Frederick had slipped out of the servant's entrance to the house just before dawn in order to minimize his chances of being seen. That left him some several hours to hide himself as best he could before he could join the others at nine o'clock and begin hiding in plain sight. She jumped at every noise on the street, fearful that it was an inspector come to inform them of Frederick's arrest. Regardless of her own fears, it fell to her to assuage the fears of both her father and mother. Though all had agreed last night that this was the best course of action, once it was set in motion, her father fretted and her mother lamented. Luckily, her mother was easy to distract with preparations for the upcoming nuptials. Mary came around half past seven to help prepare a modest wedding breakfast and relieve Dixon so that she could help Margaret dress. Nicholas came along to attend the wedding – he had been granted half the day's leave as his master was the groom and the bride had plead for his presence at the wedding – and was invaluable in distracting her father.

In order to incorporate Mrs. Hale into her preparations, Margaret dressed in the sick room. She allowed Dixon to concoct a far more lavish hairstyle than was her habit per her mother's instructions. Her mother asked Dixon to fetch her jewelry casket, from which she reverently lifted her pearls. Margaret perched on the side of the bed and allowed her mother to clasp the pearls around her neck. A small commotion was heard below and within minutes, Mary led Fanny and Mrs. Shaw into the chamber. 

“Oh phoo!” Exclaimed Edith, “You're already nearly full dressed! I was hoping to help you as you did me!”

Margaret rose and gave Edith an exited hug “I am sorry Edith, but we've but an hour before the parson arrives.”

“And we've so much to prepare in the parlor!” Edith cried. 

Aunt Shaw bent somewhat from her rigid stance and gave Margaret an indulgent smile. “You look lovely in your mother's gown my dear. Why don't you girls go set up the parlor while Dixon and I get your mother ready.”

Although Margaret was a sensible girl, something of Edith's whimsical excitement stirred a like feeling in her and they giggled their way hand in hand to the parlor like a pair of schoolgirls. Mary and the coachman were just setting the last of the boxes on the floor and Mr. Hale was introducing his _nephew,_ Mr. Frederick _Shaw_ to Nicholas and Mary. _Thank God he made it back safely!_ Margaret thought when she heard his voice and released a sigh of relief. As they entered the parlor, all eyes fell on Margaret in stunned silence. 

Margaret indeed did feel stunning in her mother's dress. It was made of the softest pale blue silk – as Mama married before Queen Victoria made white dresses all the rage – with a delicate white lace over-skirt that ended some five inches above the hem, where the skirt was trimmed with an intricate scroll pattern embroidered in silver and dark blue with fine seed pearls worked in. The cut and fit of the old-fashioned dress was somewhat freeing as the waist was a bit higher, the skirts less full, and it lacked the voluminous bustles, bows, and endless flounces of the current fashions in formal attire. She felt elegant without being overdone, which was all Margaret could wish for on this day.

Nicholas recovered first, “Why Miss Margaret, I canna say as I've ever seen a bonnier bride than yo!”

Mary, as terse usual, cried her habitual “Oh Miss!” with awed enthusiasm.

Frederick, in the universal manner of big brothers, could not resist the slight joke of, “I suppose you'll do,” but the wink and the warm smile he gave her belied his words.

Her father was staring at her in awe, eyes pooling with tears. “Margaret!” He said in an unsteady voice, “you look just like your mother, I feel as if I've stepped into the past.”

“Oh Papa,” she replied as she stepped forward to hug him, “that is the best compliment you could ever give me!”

“Now, now, everyone,” Edith said with mock severity, “we could spend the next hour admiring the stunning vision Margaret presents in her wedding finery, but then we'd have no decorations for the wedding itself.”

“I believe you are right, and as you've brought it all from London that would be a shame,” Margaret said as she disentangled herself from her father's embrace. “Edith, these are my friends, Nicholas and Mary Higgins.” Margaret did not miss the look of confusion that crossed Edith's face at being introduced to people whom she had assumed were servants. 

After a moment, she gave them a shallow curtsy and plowed forward in her planning. “Now, where are we to put Aunt Hale?”

“We tried to convince her it would be as well to have the ceremony in her room so she would not have to leave her bed, but she would not hear us. I think it best if we move her onto the settee in her room and bundle her tight, then carry the settee in here. That way we minimize her exposure to the draft in the hall.” Margaret replied.

“Splendid! Luckily her room is on this floor, so she won't have to be moved far,” replied Edith, mentally tallying the available furniture and plotting in her head. After a moment she began giving orders to Frederick and Nicholas to move the furniture. Before long, the sofa and chairs, as well as several chairs from the dining parlor, were arranged facing the fireplace, with a makeshift aisle between them and an empty space near the fireplace left for Mrs. Hale's settee. Meanwhile, Margaret and Mary began unpacking the parcels of flowers, ribbons, and other finery that Edith had brought. She noted with pleasure that the flowers were various shades of white, blue, and purple that complemented her dress splendidly. She was touched that for all of her disapproval, Aunt Shaw must have had a part in planning the flowers. Margaret had only told Edith they were using her mother's dress but had not described it. They were just about to start adorning the room when Dixon entered and formally announced that Mrs. Hale was ready to be brought in. 

With Frederick and Nicholas lifting at either end of the settee and Dixon imperiously tutting and fretting while directing them, Mrs. Hale made her way down the aisle for her daughter's wedding in a farce of Cleopatra on her liter. From this throne, she then animatedly directed the placement of flowers, ribbons, and garlands for several minutes before growing tired and napping lightly as people worked around her. At this stage Aunt Shaw, who saw herself as nearly an adoptive mother to Margaret, took over the role of imperious overseer to this production. 

Nicholas had carefully untangled a long garland of flowers and was standing with it draped about his shoulders and arms. He was feeding it to Dixon and Mary, who were standing precariously on chairs affixing the garland to the doorway as Aunt Shaw barked orders as to its placement when Mrs. and Miss Thornton made their entrance. Introductions were made. Fanny squealed about the lavish flowers brought up from _London_ and happily went to help Margaret arrange flowers into silver vases, while Edith was distributing the finished vases around the room. Mrs. Thornton, with far more command and somewhat less taste, was attempting to over-rule Aunt Shaw's instructions as to the garland. A knock on the door and a quick glance at the clock alerted Margaret to the fact that their preparation time was up. She momentarily sighed over the spectacle of the room and took decisive action. 

“Dixon, Mary, the garland looks perfect where it is now, please secure it and come down.” The two matrons looked at her indignantly, as they were both advocating for some slight alteration, but their distraction lasted long enough for the task to be completed. “Excellent. Dixon, Mary, would you please take these floral arrangements down to the dining parlor and verify that all is prepared for the breakfast.” In the pause, she gratefully heard John answer the door to the parson. “Mrs. Thornton, would you be so kind as to fetch the gentlemen from the study?” Margaret saw her chin rise indignantly, so she softened the order by adding, “I am sure that John would appreciate a quiet moment with you before we get underway.” Mrs. Thornton's expression softened slightly and she gave an answering nod and exited the room. “Frederick, Nicholas, would you please clear these boxes? You may place them in my room for the moment. Thank you. Aunt Shaw, would you please wake my mother and make sure she is comfortable? Edith, Fanny, as bridesmaids, would you care to join me in mother's room to finish preparing?” Both young ladies gave excited titters and Edith grabbed Margaret's posy of flowers. “Father, would you please come to fetch me when I am needed?” He nodded and smiled. 

Margaret gave one more sweeping glance around the room. It had been transformed into a garden oasis. It was perfect. She nodded and retreated to her mother's room with Edith and Fanny following her like ducklings. All that was really left for Margaret's preparations was to attach her veil, which Edith did with all of the solemnity that such a rite of passage deserved. Fanny busied herself about straightening invisible wrinkles in Margaret's dress and complimenting the exquisite embroidery.

Margaret could do with a good deal less fuss over her marriage. She was quite sure that she did not need fancy silks and imported flowers to make the day she joined her life with John's memorable. And yet, the flowers _were_ lovely, the dress _was_ beautiful. She was certain John would think her beautiful in it. And nothing could be more precious than the look of pride her mother gave her when she saw Margaret in her dress, the tenderness with which she clasped the pearls with her shaking fingers, and the childlike glee she had when she was issuing orders about the decorations. The vows would be for her and John, but every thing else about today was about family. 

Before very many minutes had passed, her father came to collect her. Edith and Fanny preceded them into the parlor with all of the pomp they could muster. Father kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand affectionately, and escorted her into the parlor. They turned into the doorway and there he was. John was standing by the fireplace beside the pastor and his face transformed the moment he saw her to one of wistful awe, as if he still couldn't believe that this was all happening. That look he focused on her seemed to pull the air out of the room while drawing her in. She returned a brilliant smile as she admired the dashing figure he cut. While his formal coat and pantaloons were still his customary black, he wore a blue cravat and matching waistcoat. He was always handsome, but the color suited him, gave him a softer look than his habitual black. Her father shifted his arm slightly pulling her out of her focused gaze. She glanced around the room and saw a sea of loving faces. Her father standing proud as he walked her down their makeshift aisle, Frederick's cheeky grin as he stood up with John, Mother's pale cheeks brightened by the excitement, Edith and Fanny looking like a pair of perfect Dresden figurines, Even Mrs. Thornton was managing a small smile. For a brief moment, she felt as if all of her cares would disappear if only she could keep everyone she loved safe and cocooned in this magical space. Her smile faltered as her practical side reminded her that this wasn't true. But then her gaze focused again on John and her joy returned in force. Her John. Her anchor.

~~~

She was the most beautiful sight John ever seen. He would never tire of having that devoted smile aimed in his direction. She was always beautiful but today she was stunning. It had been a trying day and the stress was beginning to wear on him. But as soon as he caught sight of Margaret all thoughts of his mother's complaints about Margaret's airs, Mrs. Shaw's disapproval, or Frederick's slip of calling his own mother 'Mama' rather than his aunt flew from his head. Margaret was regally floating on the arm of her father, looking for all the world like she was walking down the aisle of the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace rather than crossing a parlor in a small house in Crampton. He could still scarcely believe that this magnificent creature cared for him. From tonight onward, he would no longer have to take his leave of her at night and return to his lonely bed. He would have a partner, a wife to share his joys and his burdens. He saw a momentary flicker of grief as she looked at her mother and reminded himself that he would share her burdens as well. For once he entirely let his social mask fall and conveyed all of his emotions, his convictions, his love, his unparalleled happiness, into the steady adoring smile he trained on Margaret. His Margaret.

When she reached him he took her hands, impatient to confirm that this was real, that she wouldn't evaporate away like she had in the wretched dreams that had plagued him for months. Her fingers were indeed solid within his grasp. He could scarcely account for the events of the ceremony itself. He must have given the appropriate responses when prompted and slipped a ring on her finger because it seemed that before he could shift any of his attention away from the woman beside him people were approaching and congratulating him. His wife – _wife!_ – was moving towards her mother and as he was yet unwilling to let go of her hand he moved along with her.

“Margaret … John … I am so … happy for you … to have … my whole … family together … to see … you … married … has made … me … so happy!” Her labored breathing and ensuing coughing fit finally brought John back down to earth.

“Shall I fetch you some water?” She nodded weakly, but before he managed more than a step, Miss Dixon arrived with a glass of water and aided her mistress to drink.

“Have we taxed you overmuch today Mama?” Margaret asked in concern.

“No … my dear … I would have … given … anything … to see this … day.” Mrs. Hale gave her daughter a joyful smile. “Although … I am … tired … I fear … I must … rest.”

Eager to be useful to his mother-in-law, John lifted the back of the settee while Frederick lifted the foot and they carried her into her room.

~~~

Once Dixon had shooed the men out of the room and maneuvered Mama back to her bed, Margaret went forward and grasped her hand. “I shall … be … well after … some rest … go … enjoy your … wedding … breakfast.” Her eyelids were drooping and she was clearly exhausted, but the joy still shone on her face. Margaret squeezed her hand and reluctantly left her to her rest. John was waiting for her in the hallway.

“Has Frederick gone down?”

“Aye, I like your brother,” he said as he took her hand, “I think he wanted to give us a moment alone. How are you holding up?”

“I am well. The wedding was perfect. Having everyone here, all of the love and joy and support, for a brief moment it felt like everything would be ok. Mama seemed so happy, but then after …” 

He drew her into his comforting embrace and whispered, “after the ceremony she was still happy, just tired. She is ill and needs her rest, but the important thing is that she was here with you at our wedding.” 

_Our wedding,_ she thought and smiled up at him. “We're married!”

He kissed her reverently and tenderly replied, “that we are, Mrs. Thornton.” Margaret's brow furrowed and John's face grew anxious. “You're not having regrets?”

“Oh no John! The only regret I have is that it took me so long to see your merits. It's just … well, when you called me Mrs. Thornton I had to fight the urge to look around for your mother.” His deep laughter rumbled through her.

“I suppose it will take some getting used to. But you are not unhappy in your choice of husband?” 

“Never,” she replied sincerely, “and are you happy in your choice of wife?”

“Margaret, you cannot imagine how blissfully happy you've made me today.” He proceeded to demonstrate this bliss with a deep, passionate kiss. 

She pulled away and hid her face against his shoulder, still unaccustomed to this level of intimacy. “I'm afraid if we tarry any longer your mother may send up a search party.”

“Aye, I suppose it would not do for the bride and groom to miss the wedding breakfast.” He offered her his arm and escorted her down to the dining parlor. 

“Ah, there you are Margaret, John,” her father greeted them with far more cheer in his tone than had been his habit of late, “or should I say Mr. and Mrs. Thornton!”

Mrs. _Hannah_ Thornton winced at the statement and added caustically, “we were beginning to despair of you joining us.”

“I was helping to settle my mother,” Margaret said, striving for calm. From the heat in her cheeks and the alternating mischievous or disapproving looks this elicited from many in the party, Margaret knew she was not entirely successful.

Edith attempted to lighten the atmosphere by saying, “Margaret, I know you once decried the necessity of a wedding-breakfast, I was wondering if you were staying away on principle.”

“Oh Edith, you know I loved your wedding, I was merely weary of planning and arranging at the time.”

“Yes, well, that was a far more _formal_ affair,” snapped her aunt as she looked down at the assortment of delightful meats and pastries that Dixon and Mary had prepared.

“And it suited Edith very well, but you know I do not like such fuss for myself.” Margaret thought she heard a scoff from her mother-in-law but chose to ignore it. In spite of the pique of the two matrons, the rest of the conversation at the breakfast continued pleasantly. Fanny broke the tension first with a conversation about the delights they saw at the exhibition which Margaret, John, Edith, and Captain Lennox were happy to contribute to. The exotic wares of the empire naturally segued into a discussion of travel. Edith and Captain Lennox gave picturesque descriptions of Corfu, Aunt Shaw chimed in with tales from her latest trip to Italy, and Frederick entertained them with vivid, graphic, rattling accounts of the wild life he had led in Mexico, South America, and elsewhere – carefully avoiding any mention of how he came to live such a life and of his current home in Spain. 

Margaret cherished these lighthearted animated conversations; however, the highlight of the meal for her was the solid presence of her husband by her side. While it was true that many of these people would soon return to London or Spain – possibly never to return again – Margaret knew that John would remain. When the worst happened and her mother departed this earth, John would be here by her side. This may be the final time that the present party were all assembled under the same roof but it was only the first of a lifetime of meals with her husband.


	12. Swift Departure

Most people around the table had long abandoned their forks and settled into pleasant conversation over tea when John noticed Miss Dixon solemnly enter the dining parlor. Her expression was so altered from her earlier happiness that he knew it did not bode well for Mrs. Hale's condition. 

“Dixon, how fares Maria?” Mr. Hale asked with an anxious tone. The room quieted and all eyes turned to the Hale's servant.

“She is awake …” she heaved a shuddering breath “... barely. She is quite anxious to see Mrs. Shaw, Mas … Mr. Shaw, and Mrs. Lennox before they go.” Her tone suggested an urgency none of them had expected after her energy of the morning. Frederick and Mrs. Lennox bolted from the room as swiftly as they could, while Mrs. Shaw was only slightly delayed by following proper decorum. Margaret hastily left her chair to help Mr. Hale from his. Half an hour ago, Mr. Hale was a middle-aged man; now his sight was dim, his senses wavering, his walk tottering, as if he were seventy years of age. John couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was suffering. He himself had only been married for two hours and already the thought of losing Margaret was unbearable. 

Margaret gave him a searching look just before she left the dining parlor, he answered her silent plea: “I will see to the rest of our guests and call for Dr. Donaldson. I will be here if you need me.” She gave him a grateful nod and continued up the stairs. 

“Mother, shall I call for the carriage?”

“I don't see how I can be of any use here. But what about you, should I send it back?”

“No, I think it unlikely that we will be home tonight, we will be needed here.”

“Surely you …”

“No Mother,” he said in a quiet firm voice. He knew that her primary opposition to his marriage was that she would lose him, and here he was quitting the house on the very first night but it could not be helped. “I can not and will not leave my wife on our wedding day while her mother is dying.”

Mother straightened and nodded, caving in to the demands of propriety. “Very well. Dr. Donaldson is not terribly far from Marlborough Mills. We shall stop to fetch him and send him back in the carriage then walk the rest of the way home.” She glared at Fanny as if daring her to complain, Fanny merely closed her mouth and nodded dispite her petulant look.

“Thank you Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek.

He sent Mary down to the mews to call for the coach, and soon saw his mother and sister out. Returning to the dining parlor, he found himself again alone with Captain Lennox – Higgins having left before the breakfast in order to meet with some men about the dining hall at the mill. “This would seem to be a rather dramatic introduction into the family,” the Captain said gravely.

“Aye, but it was not wholly unexpected. This was, after all, the reason for our haste. She just looked so much improved this morning.”

“I wish there were something useful for us to do.” Mary bustled into the room to clean up the remains of breakfast. Dixon would be focused on Mrs. Hale for the foreseeable future.

“Well, I suspect that most of the family will be asked to leave the room when the doctor arrives, perhaps we should set the parlor to rights?” John suggested. Captain Lennox gave a decisive nod and led the way. By the time the doctor's quick rap on the door sounded, the furniture had been rearranged and a fire built. John went down to answer the door. In passing Mary at on the landing, he requested she bring up tea to the parlor. He then showed the doctor up to Mrs. Hale's room. Margaret and Frederick were positioned on either side of her holding her hands. Mrs. Shaw and Edith had taken up positions by the lower bedposts. Mr. Hale leaned heavily against the door, as if he had not the strength to stand on his own. 

“Ok, if everyone could please clear the room so I can conduct my examination. Miss Dixon and Miss Hale may stay if you like.”

“Mrs. … Thornton,” Mrs. Hale gasped out with as much of a smile as she could muster while struggling for breath. John smiled slightly that even as she struggled for her last breaths, she was announcing her daughter's marriage.

“Yes, she fetched me in the carriage so that I could arrive quickly, so very kind of her,” the doctor replied. Mrs. Hale turned to Margaret with frustration clear on her face.

“No,” replied Margaret with a weak smile, “she means me. I am no longer Miss Hale, we were married today.” She looked tenderly at John and he couldn't suppress a small smile despite the circumstances. 

“I see. Congratulations Mrs. Thornton,” he said brusquely as he set his bag on the bedside table, “you may stay if you like, everyone else please leave.”

John helped Mr. Hale to the parlor and into his habitual chair. Frederick leaned languidly against the fireplace. Mrs. Shaw, Mrs. Lennox and the Captain shared the sofa so John took the chair opposite Mr. Hale. Nobody spoke. Mr. Hale was wracked with silent sobs. Frederick peered into the fire as if it held the solution to this grave problem. Mrs. Shaw was ashen and introspective. Mrs. Lennox grasped her husband's hand while he gently tried to soothe her. Mary brought in the tea service and as neither of the women roused themselves to pour, he prepared a cup for Mr. Hale himself. He knew how he took it as he had often watched Margaret preparing her father's tea, entranced at the little pantomime they acted out – her father would take her little finger and thumb in his masculine hand, and made them serve as sugar-tongs. It was so loving and familiar that John had longed from the first for even a small fraction of that love.

He handed the tea to Mr. Hale and urged him to drink something, more as a distraction than any urgent need for tea. The older man automatically lifted the cup to his mouth once in compliance, then fell back into his despondency. Captain Lennox was preparing a cup for his wife, so John asked in a low voice how Mrs. Shaw took her tea and made her a cup. 

She started up when he offered her the cup and seemed to come out of her daze. She looked up at him in confusion, but after a moment replied. “Thank you Mr. Thornton, I'm afraid I'm rather overcome.” She looked around her for the first time since leaving, evidently noting the rearranged furniture. She cast him an appraising look and said, “Thank you for taking care of us, for taking care of _her._ ” For the first time in his acquaintance with the woman, he felt true gratitude and respect behind those words.

“I assure you Mrs. Shaw, it is my pleasure and my privileged to do whatever I can to relieve the burden of this distressing time.” He got the notion that when she nodded her approval, it encompassed more than his response. The room then lapsed into anxious silence until Margaret and Dr. Donaldson appeared. She looked so pale and haggard at the door, but before taking many steps into the room a serene mask fell across her features. No doubt she felt the need to protect her father from her own feelings. John immediately helped her to his own chair and went to make her tea.

~~~

Margaret was in a daze. _Mama is dying._ Of course, she had known that for some time now. But there was a difference between knowing that Mama would eventually die from this illness and knowing that Mama would likely die within the day. She walked mechanically to the parlor, steeped in grief. When she saw her father and brother turn to her with expectant eyes she knew that she would have to be the strong one. She had to pull the family through this. So she strengthened her resolve, and controlled her expression. John came forward and showed her to a chair.

“I gave her some opiates and she's resting comfortably now,” the doctor was repeating the news he had told her moments ago as John handed her a cup of tea. When their hands briefly touched, she caught his and held it tightly, an anchor to hold her stable. The doctor continued, “However, this state of tranquility can not endure for many days, nor perhaps for many hours. Allow her to sleep as much as she can, try to have only one person sit with her at a time so as not to disturb her sleep. When she wakes up, make the most of her time left.” After this alarming speech, John showed Dr. Donaldson out.

Almost before the doctor was out of earshot Frederick wheeled around from the fireplace. 'I don't believe it,' he exclaimed. 'She is very ill; she may be dangerously ill, and in immediate danger, too; but I can't imagine that she could be as she is, if she were on the point of death. Margaret! she should have some other advice—some London doctor. Have you never thought of that?'

“Oh yes!” Added Aunt Shaw, “I can't imagine a Milton doctor has half the skill of one from London.”

Margaret sighed, “Of course I've considered it, more than once. But I don't believe it would do any good. And, you know, we have not the money or time to bring any great London surgeon down, and I am sure Dr. Donaldson is only second in skill to the very best,—if, indeed, he is to them.”

Aunt Shaw looked indignant, Frederick began pacing impatiently, and Father looked haunted. Margaret saw the turn that this conversation would very soon take. They blamed Milton for Mama's illness and by extension Father. But the man was already devastated by the decline of the woman he loved, and full of self-reproach. He could not bear being attacked. “If only …” Frederick began lamenting, but Margaret quickly cut him off.

“Frederick! Aunt! I know that we all desperately wish we could _do_ something to help mother. But her symptoms started even before we left Helstone and Mama made the decision to not reveal the extent of her illness to us until it was necessary partly to avoid this fuss and worry. She does not want this.” Margaret succeeded in quelling the dispute for the time being. For the remainder of the afternoon, they took turns sitting with Mama while she slept. Aunt Shaw decided that she could not possibly return to London today, and so Captain Lennox went to engage rooms at a nearby hotel. 

Late that afternoon, Mrs. Hale woke while Margaret was sitting with her. She grabbed her hand and yelled: “Frederick, Father!” The whole party huddled into the small room. Speaking was difficult for Mrs. Hale and induced frightful coughing fits, but she reached out her hand to each person in their turn, silently saying her farewells. They spent a cheerful half hour talking and reminiscing with Mrs. Hale communicating her enjoyment through smiles and nodding. She fell asleep holding Frederick's hand and nobody was willing to disturb her to release it. After this interlude, Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox retired to their hotel, fatigued from their early travel and trying day. 

Before the night of that day, Dr. Donaldson's opinion was proved to be too well founded. Convulsions came on; and when they ceased, Mrs. Hale was unconscious. Her husband might lie by her shaking the bed with his sobs; her son's strong arms might lift her tenderly up into a comfortable position; her daughter's hands might bathe her face; but she knew them not. She would never recognize them again, till they met in Heaven. Before the morning came all was over.

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when John finally convinced Margaret to get some rest. Her brother was shut in his room sobbing, her father sat trembling and silently refused to leave his wife's side. John knew that Margaret wished to comfort them, but there was little she could do tonight and she needed her own rest and her own time to grieve so he gently led her to her own room. She still wore her wedding dress, her attire forgotten in the chaos of the day. He asked if she needed help and she nodded faintly. He carefully helped her remove her dress and unlace her stays, a sad pantomime of a wedding night. He had a whole lifetime ahead of him with Margaret, tonight she needed to sleep and to grieve. And yet he rejoiced in being able to do this much. Dixon had retired hours ago, too lost in her own grief and managing the rest of the household to recall Margaret's stays. John was grateful that as her husband he was able to take care of her, to offer her these small comforts, that his great love might come in to comfort and console her. When she was down to her shift, he sat her at the vanity. She had removed her veil at some point during the day but her hair was still elaborately fixed, so he began removing pins from her hair. Throughout all of this she remained silent, dazed. He gently brushed out her hair and began plaiting it across her shoulder.

“You make a surprisingly good ladies maid,” she said softly in a dull voice, “I don't suppose you often find yourself plaiting hair at the Mill?” Gentle teasing was good. She was coming out of her stupor somewhat, and she was not opposed to his services.

“Perhaps not at the Mill, but I do have a younger sister. When Fanny was little it was just Mother and I, we had no servants so I did what was needed. She used to prefer it when I brushed her hair, she said I was more gentle. Mother would scold her and tap her over the head with the brush if she moved too much, but I could never bring myself to hurt the little pixie.” He said as he sought out a ribbon from the vanity to secure the plait.

“I can see why you're so well practiced then,” she said then paused contemplatively as he finished the bow. “John,” she reached up to capture his hand, “thank you.”

Her look of tender gratitude melted his heart and he sank down to his knees beside her. “Margaret, I promise that I will always do anything in my power to take care of you,” he paused and gave her a lopsided grin, “even if all I can do is fetch the tea and serve as a ladies maid.” He was rewarded with a small laugh and a light kiss. “Now, you need some rest,” he said as he rose. She nodded and stood.

“You won't leave me?” Her voice wavered a bit and he smiled, she _wanted_ him to stay. His pulse quickened despite himself.

“No my love. I'll just be a moment.” He quickly divested himself of his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shoes. He found it oddly appealing to toss his coordinating waistcoat and cravat on the chair alongside Margaret's wedding dress. A tangible record that something momentous and wonderful happened today in spite of the grief and sorrow that followed.

He blew out the candles so that only the warm glow of the fire in the hearth lit the room, conscious of the fact that Margaret watched his progress through the room. He gently climbed under the covers beside her and pulled her into his embrace. “How are you bearing up?” He asked as he gently rubbed her back. 

“My grief pales in comparison to my father's, I must be strong for his sake. And for Fred's.” 

John's brow furrowed. “You must grieve for yourself as well, it is unhealthy to bottle it up.”

“But I can bear it better than they.”

“How about we strike a bargain, I will not stop you from taking the weight of your family's grief on your shoulders as long as you allow me to do the same for you. You are not alone Margaret, there is no reason to hide your feelings from me, love. I know the pain of loosing a parent, but I do not know what I would have done without my Mother's strength. Let me give that to you.”

“Thank you,” she responded in a quavering voice as she began to shed the first tears she had cried since her mother's passing. He held her as silent sobs racked her body and she clung to him. He lay there caressing her back, stroking her hair, whispering endearments, wishing there were more he could do but knowing there was not. Eventually her shuddering stilled and her breathing evened out as she fell asleep. He sighed and kissed the top of her head before he closed his eyes and succumbed to his own exhaustion.


	13. Mischances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has one sentence referring to domestic violence in a minor character relationship. It is brief and not explicit.

_Saturday October 18, 1851_

Margaret awoke feeling warm and content, it took her a few moments to realize that the source of that warmth was John. Slightly more accustomed to the sensation than she had been before, she nestled further into his shoulder and sighed. _Her husband._ She smiled briefly at the memory of her wedding, but memories of the rest of the day followed swiftly on its heels allowing harsh reality to creep into her cocoon of happiness. When she rose, she would have to put on a mourning dress – it had been over three years since General Shaw had died, did her mourning gowns still fit? Aunt Shaw would need to be notified, Frederick and Father would need comforting, the funeral must be planned. However, the worst task ahead of her was figuring out how to live in a world without her mother. Her sob must have woken John, because his arm began stroking her back steadily.

“I'm sorry,” she said meekly, “I must control myself.”

“No, never apologize for your grief.” He said tenderly as he kissed the top of her head, “we are still alone, now is the time to give way.” She allowed herself the relief of tears, weeping into his shoulder so that no one else might hear her cry. Hearing Dixon close a door below, Margaret remembered that she could not give in entirely to her grief. She focused on the rhythmic movement of John's hand on her back, the beat of his heart, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and tried to regulate her breathing to his. She recalled his tenderness of the previous evening, his care, his gentle hands … _heavens, he undressed me!_ She gasped and looked down to verify that she was indeed in only her shift and he was in his shirtsleeves. Her face flamed and she tugged at the coverlet to hide herself. 

His voice rumbled through her. “I was unsure how aware you were when we retired last night, but Dixon had long since retired and you surely couldn't sleep well in your stays.”

“No, I could not,” she said, burying her face deeper into his shoulder to hide her embarrassment. “I do appreciate you taking care of me. It's just … nobody's seen me in only my shift save maids. You must allow for some maidenly modesty.”

“Of course,” he said, then cleared his throat and shifted, “shall I run down and fetch some hot water?”

She shifted up on her elbow and replied, “thank you, that would be wonderful.” She watched him swiftly replace his waistcoat and his shoes then disappear out the door. She marveled at his hasty departure and could only conclude that he wanted to see to her needs. _He is certainly attentive,_ she thought as she moved to the wardrobe to search for appropriate attire.

~~~

John exited the room quickly and braced his arms against the wall. Last night had been easy. Margaret needed him and he did what was necessary. His own needs or desires had been unimportant. But lying in bed with her, the hazy light of dawn illuminating her hair while she blushed so becomingly, speaking of their state of undress and her maidenly modesty had brought his own desires screaming to the forefront. Her embarrassment was evident, but she had turned into him in her discomfort rather than jumping away, her warm body pressed against his side. Then there was the sleepy rumpled look she had about her when she sat up on her elbow and her shift … shifted. He doubted she even realized what her gaze did to him as she watched him dress, so he'd settled for only his waistcoat and shoes before fleeing the room. Last night everything had been easy, this morning things were, well, hard. He looked down and tried to cool his ardor. She was his wife, but she was grieving. Her mother had just died less than eight hours ago, in this house. This house in mourning where her mother's body lay lifeless and her Father and brother slept below. That sobering thought brought his body back under regulation, and he quietly made his way down to the kitchen.

“Oh, Mr. Thornton!” Miss Dixon jumped slightly on his entrance. “I did not realize you were still here.”

“I could not leave my wife in the state she was in last night, and she could not leave her father or brother.” 

Her face softened and she replied, “no, I suppose not. How is she?”

“As well as can be expected,” he replied, “I've come to fetch her some hot water to wash up.” 

She directed him to the pot on the hearth and returned to unpacking her basket from the morning's trip to the market. As he was pouring hot water into a can, she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and looked at him appraisingly. After a moment, she seemed to decide he was trustworthy and asked, “Mr. Thornton, how much do you know about Master Frederick?” She fretted with the clasp of her basket then added, “about his situation?”

John sighed, not liking the direction this was going. “I know the basic facts, enough to know the risk he took coming and the danger he's in until he's gone.” 

She sighed in obvious relief. “I don't think it's safe for Master Frederick to be here,” she confided. “This morning at the market I met a Helstone man, a nasty, good-for-nothing fellow by the name George Leonards. We exchanged greetings, then before long we exchanged _words,_ and the sum of it is he reminded me of the mutiny and the hundred pound reward out for the capture of Lieutenant Hale and had the effrontery to offer to go partners in the reward with me if I'd help him trap him.”

“And did he give any indication that he knew Frederick was in Milton?” John asked anxiously.

“No, I dare say he did it all just to be impudent. Thankfully, he had never the grace to ask where I was staying; and I shouldn't have told him if he had asked.”

That was some comfort at least, but the situation was grave indeed. “Have you told anyone else of this encounter?”

“Nobody's awake to hear it.”

“Good. I agree that it's too dangerous for him to remain here, but would you allow me to look into this Leonards before you tell the others? It would not do to act hastily and put Frederick in further danger.”

“Yes, I wasn't sure if I ought to disturb the Master nor Master Frederick with it in their state.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the servant's entrance. Miss Dixon jumped and threw a hand to her heart, so Mr. Thornton stepped forward to answer it. His overseer stood there holding an overnight bag. “Excuse me, Master. I checked in at th'house this morning seeing as yo were away yesterday an' yo'r Mother told me where t'find yo and asked me to bring yo a bag.”

“Thank you Williams, would you come through to the study for a moment?” After a quick overview of yesterday's events at the Mill, John took advantage of this unforeseen resource and tasked Williams with discretely inquiring into a Mr. George Leonards. He gave the reason that the man had made threats to the Hale's servant without being more explicit. After a few more brief words of business, and scrawling a hasty update for Williams to deliver to his mother, John focused his attention back to his wife.

When he returned to the kitchen after seeing Williams out, Dixon had made up a fresh can of warm Water as well as some tea for Margaret and him, all arranged on a tray. John made his way back up to his wife. At his soft tap on the door, Margaret thankfully opened the door – balancing a tray as well as his bag was a daunting task.

“I am sorry I was longer than expected, my overseer dropped of this bag and I spoke to him for a few minutes about business,” he said as he set the tray on a table. He looked up and was unsure whether to be pleased or worried that she was still in her shift, although a black dress had been laid out on the bed. In the morning light, he could see her silhouette through her white shift and averted his eyes, struggling against his baser urges. They quietly got ready together. He unpacked his bag while she washed up, he helped her with her stays and gown, she fixed her hair while he shaved. It was all so blissfully, agonizingly domestic and intimate.

~~~

Margaret puzzled over John's behavior. All day yesterday he was the perfect attentive husband and last night he had been so gentle but now he could scarcely look at her. Missing the intimacy, she stepped before him and helped him straighten his cravat. He shifted his eyes over her shoulder. She impatiently tugged a bit at his cravat, “John. What is the matter?” His eyes, though still averted from her expressed confusion, then longing. When they finally settled on her they showed determination.

“I do not want you to worry overmuch until we have more information.” A sense of foreboding settled on Margaret, “Miss Dixon had an interaction this morning with a young man named Leonards who made some impertinent remarks about your brother. About the reward.”

“Leonards, the draper's son from Helstone?” Margaret's mind raced as to how he could even be in Milton.

“Apparently. As far as we can tell, he does not know that Frederick is in Milton.” His soothing hand was back, caressing her arm, “I have asked Williams to find out what he can about the man. If it meets your approval, I think it best to wait to inform your family until we know more.”

“Yes, I wouldn't want to distress them any more than necessary.” Margaret said, calming. She would have gladly stepped into his embrace, but her husband abruptly turned away and began fussing about his clothes. “John, what else?” Her anxiety rose again. What could be so much worse than news of Fred's increased danger that he could not tell her?

“Nothing.” He replied evasively.

“Then why won't you look at me?” 

He sighed and looked into her eyes, “you're so …” 

Margaret was well aware of her current appearance, she had just spent several minutes looking at her reflection while fixing her hair. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, contrasting with her pale cheeks and the dark circles from her late night. She was certainly not the blushing bride of yesterday morning. 

“... beautiful …” he said reverently, startling Margaret with this unexpected praise. “... and I love you, and you're my _wife!_ But you're grieving, and we're in your father's home, and you need my support, not my …” He turned around in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. Margaret couldn't help a small smile at the circumstances.

“John,” she said, gently tugging his tense arm, “I _do_ need your support, I need you to remind me that life will continue after this great loss. I need you to remind me that there will be love and joy and laughter in my life. I too am sorry that our marriage was so swiftly followed by tragedy, but please do not withdraw from me.” Her voice cracked on the last plea and John's arms swiftly enfolded her. 

After a few moments of tender embraces and solicitude, Margaret felt equal to the task of facing the day. They descended the stairs and began their morning. Margaret languidly assisted Dixon with preparing for breakfast. Every room in this house held some ghost of her mother's influence and fueled her grief, but she persisted, feeling that action was preferable to languor. As she worked, she and John had discussed the contents of the death notice and he was now diligently writing it out. It would appear in the paper only a day after their marriage announcement – which had been sent off the previous day. When the fire was bright and crackling—when everything was ready for breakfast, and the tea-kettle was singing away, Margaret gave a last look round the room before going to summon Mr. Hale and Frederick. She wanted everything to look as cheerful as possible; and yet, when it did so, the contrast between it and her own thoughts nearly oppressed her, but she looked up and saw her husband seated nearby sharing her burdens and she soldiered on. 

Mr. Hale came—as if in a dream, or rather with the unconscious motion of a sleep-walker, whose eyes and mind perceive other things than what are present. Frederick came briskly in, with a forced cheerfulness, grasped her hand, looked into her eyes, and burst into tears. She had to try and think of little nothings to say all breakfast-time.

After breakfast, Margaret and John attempted to make preparations for the funeral with her father, but he absently turned the task over to John's capable hands. John was preparing to quit the room to seek out the undertaker when Mr. Hale added in a hollow voice, “Ask Mr. Bell.” John looked to Margaret and she nodded.

“I will write to-day,” said she.

Margaret was seated at this task when Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox returned, reminding her shamefully that she had never sent them the news. This worry, however, abated when her aunt informed her that Mr. Thornton had sent word the previous evening. She silently thanked God that she had John to help them through this troubling time.

~~~

John walked briskly through the chilly Milton streets, anxious to return to Margaret. The undertaker had been an easy stop, residing on the same road in Crampton as the Hales. Unwilling as he was to be away from Margaret at this time, he had ventured further to post the death notice at the newspaper and stopped at the mill to pick up materials for the proposals for Lady Wentworth that he could work on from Crampton. The shuttered windows and black-crepe adorned doorway of the Hale's house had just come into view when he heard his name called.

“Mr. Thornton, sir,” Williams touched his cap in greeting. “I've an update on the young man we discussed this morning.” 

“That was fast,” John replied. 

“Aye, didna need t'look far. Turns out 'e lurks about Marlborough Mills enough t'be known. Leonards is engaged to one of yo'r servants, Betsy. She 'as nothing bad to say of 'im, but Sarah and Hannah opened up right enough. Seems 'e likes 'is drink and turns right violent when tipsy, they've seen bruises on Betsy more th'n once. 'E only arrived in Milton a few months ago but 'e 'as debts with a number of tradesmen. Works as a porter at Outwood station, tho not fer long word is.” 

Drunk, violent, and desperate, not a good combination, thought John. “Thank you for looking into this for me Williams, it seems I've more than one servant to worry about near this man. I will thank you for your discretion on this matter. I find I will be busy with family matters for the rest of the day, please look after the mill and send for me here only if necessary.” 

Williams merely tipped his hat and said, “aye Master,” before making his way off to the mill. 

John hastened his way back to the Hale residence. He found all of the Hales and Harley Street party assembled in the parlor and drew Margaret away to relate the news. “I think Frederick should leave today, before the funeral is announced, the notice in the papers may be enough to suggest Frederick's presence to Leonards and this man sounds dangerous.” Margaret paled and John supported her elbow but she nodded her agreement. “Would you like me to break the news, or would you rather do so yourself.”

She slipped her hand in his and said, “we shall do it together,” with surprising resoluteness. “Though lets do ring for Dixon, it was her chance meeting that started this after all.” They rejoined the others and Margaret rang for the servant.

“When do you plan to depart?” John asked Aunt Shaw in a seemingly conversational voice, though a plan was forming in his head.

“Edith is anxious to return to little Sholto and as Edith and I can't attend the funeral after all, I see no reason to remain longer. We leave this afternoon.” _Apparently supporting your niece in her time of grief is not sufficient reason,_ John thought uncharitably. He merely nodded in response. Dixon entered the room and Margaret stepped forward.

“Dixon, would you be so kind as to tell everyone about the run-in you had this morning?” Dixon turned to John with a questioning eyebrow and he nodded. When her tale was complete, the room exploded into an array of shocked responses. Frederick foolishly wished to meet with Leonards himself. Edith cried in distress, Aunt Shaw had a fit of the nerves and demanded her smelling salts, and Mr. Hale began murmuring that Frederick must go. 

John broke into the confusion, “This situation is distressing, but all is not lost. I think it best if we continue the ruse we began yesterday. For all knowledge in Milton, Frederick is Mr. Shaw and arrived yesterday with you from London. If he leaves today in broad daylight with a party of ladies, he will draw little attention.”

“Oh yes!” Edith brightened, “that way we can see you safely to London and on from there to sail home to Spain.”

“And nobody will find anything amiss if I were to accompany my aunt and cousins to the train,” added Margaret.

Mr. Hale looked up, “Yes, Margaret, please do. I should always be fancying some one had known him, and that he had been stopped, unless you could tell me you had seen him off. And go to the Outwood station. It is quite as near, and not so many people about. Take a cab there. There is less risk of his being seen.”

“No,” John said severely, then moderated his tone. “I've made inquiries and discovered that this Leonards is a porter at the Outwood station, it would not do to loiter there. If you board at Milton, there's no reason a porter at the Outwood station should notice you as long as you hide your face from view.” After a few more attacks of Mrs. Shaw's nerves, the plan was accepted by all.

John's heart dropped when Margaret suggested that Frederick ask Henry Lennox's help clearing his name. True, a lawyer could do more for the cause than a magistrate, but John could not prevent the stab of jealousy at Margaret's dependence on _Henry Lennox_ for anything. Captain Lennox revealed that his brother was away from London on business until the following Tuesday, over a week away. Frederick had expressed his willingness to stay in London, but Mr. Hale and Margaret plead that such a delay could be fatal to Frederick. In the end, it was decided that Frederick would write his account of the mutiny and the available witnesses and Captain Lennox would discuss the matter with his brother after Frederick was safely out of the country. 

John and Margaret both accompanied the party to the train station. The parting was a tear filled affair. If Margaret clung to Frederick, she did as much to Edith and her aunt. In a whiz of smoke and steel the train was gone and they were left nearly alone on the platform. Feeling the need for more intimacy than offering her his arm, John offered her his hand and she clung to it. As they turned to walk back down the platform John heard his name.

“Mr. Thornton,” came the melodic voice of Miss Lattimer, that melody went flat as she added, “Miss Hale. We thought you returned from London on Monday.” They turned to see Mr. Lattimer escorting his daughter toward them, the later eying their joined hands with ill-concealed contempt.

He didn't even need to force his cheerful tone as he realized he would no longer have to deal with the likes of Miss Lattimer dangling after him. “Mr. Lattimer, Miss Lattimer, we did return on Monday, but it was a busy week. This is Miss Hale no longer,” John paused, appreciating the look of horrified suspense on Miss Lattimer's face, “we married yesterday.”

Miss Lattimer managed only a strangled: “married?”

Her father, however, managed a more socially correct, “congratulations Thornton, Mrs. Thornton.”

Miss Lattimer, apparently stripped of all of her hard-won refinements by shock added, “so quickly?”

“My mother …” Margaret began, but was prevented by a choked sob and John pressed her hand reassuringly.

“We returned to find that Mrs. Hale's health had rapidly declined. Wishing her to be a part of the day, we opted for a short engagement. Sadly, she passed away last evening.” The Lattimers appeared to notice Margaret's mourning attire for the first time. “We've just seen her relations off home.”

“I am sorry for your loss Miss … Mrs. Thornton,” Mr. Lattimer replied, and when he realized that no such condolence was forthcoming from his daughter, he hastily made their goodbyes.

When they reached the relative seclusion of the cab, John pulled Margaret into his arms. “I am sorry you had to bear her ill-will at such a time my dear.”

“It is alright, I suppose it had to happen some time. At least I can feel assured now that word of our marriage will spread quickly.” She replied with a ghost of mirth in her voice. “Hopefully there will be few others as surprised by the news.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “There is good reason to hope, it seems that gossip is one of the idle refinements they teach at fine Swiss finishing schools.”


	14. Comfort in Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a brief reference to domestic violence in a minor character relationship, as well as victim rationalization of said relationship. Nothing is explicit and the reference is only a couple of sentences long.

_Marlborough Mills, Tuesday October 21, 1851_

Margaret awoke on Tuesday cold and in unfamiliar surroundings. As she blinked her eyes open, she noted that the walls and bed linens were dark and the decoration sparse. Rolling onto her back and glancing around the room, her eyes finally rested on the familiar form of her husband. She rolled closer to nudge his side and he instantly wrapped his arm around her, enveloping her in his soothing warmth. 

The past few days had been a blur of grief and anxious activity. Yesterday they had laid her mother to rest on a hill overlooking the city. Although women of her class did not generally attend funerals, Margaret argued her case fiercely and her father and husband yielded to her wishes. Her mother-in-law, of course, disapproved but had little power to prevent her. The spectacle of a funeral had attracted the usual curious crowd at the funeral ceremony, but it was comprised of mostly strangers. Nicholas and Mary Higgins were a welcome sight. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had a bit of black stuff sewn round his hat—a mark of mourning which he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. Mr. Bell could not come. He had the gout. It was a most affectionate letter, and expressed great and true regret for his inability to attend and his bewildered congratulations on Margaret's marriage. And so it was that only Margaret, John and Dixon attended Mr. Hale to the cemetery. The four people in all of Milton who truly grieved Mrs. Hale's loss. 

There had been no question of Margaret or Mr. Hale removing from the house while Mrs. Hale's body remained there. John had patiently and unquestioningly stayed with her throughout but he did have a mill to run, and a household of his own to return to. So after the funeral, Margaret had convinced her bereft and lethargic father to remove with them to Marlborough Mills. She could not bear the thought of him alone in that empty house with nobody but Dixon and his memories to keep him company. It was a solemn party that had entered the house the previous evening. Margaret suspected that it was only years of hosting dinners and rebuilding her own social credit following her husband's unfortunate demise that allowed Mrs. Thornton to receive them with civility. 

The clock struck six drawing her back to the present. She heard a rumbling moan from her husband. She instinctively draped her arm across his chest. “Margaret, I have to get up.” 

Her grip tightened. “Must you?”

He groaned and began trailing a soothing, tingling caress across her back. “I must, I haven't spent as many days away from the mill as I have in the past week and a half since …” he paused and considered, “well, I don't know that I ever _have_.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, “I will miss you,” she said tremulously. It was a simple phrase, but it encompassed so much more. For the past four days he had been her anchor, stabilizing her in troubled waters. How was she to manage without him even for the day? 

His eyes were soft, worried, and full of so much love when he let out a soft, “oh my Margaret!” He then bent his head and kissed her tenderly. “You know that I would gladly remain here with you, but you did not marry one of those idle refined southern gentlemen. I must see to business.” Margaret got the impression that he was trying to convince himself as much as her. As soon as this speech was finished, he reclaimed her lips. Knowing that this kiss would have to fortify her until that evening, Margaret returned it with greater fervor than she had done in the past. John moaned and shifted so that she was on her back and he was leaning over her. She reveled in the comforting weight of him, the heat radiating from his body, the demanding reverence of his lips on hers. He pulled back breathlessly and rested his forehead against hers, gently stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “I've woken at this time every day for most of my life, and yet I've never had such trouble rising from this bed.”

“Well, you've never woken to your wife in this bed until today,” Margaret teased.

John gave a low growl and lowered his head to her shoulder. “No, but as I have not the time to give my wife the proper attention she deserves,” he dropped a lingering kiss against her neck, “we shall have to continue this tonight.” Margaret sighed as he rolled off of the bed and began dressing for his day.

“Will you be home for dinner?” She asked hopefully.

His brow furrowed and he reluctantly answered, “no, it is unlikely, but I shall be home for supper.” As he moved off into the dressing room she sighed and rose herself. If she was to be denied his company at dinner, she would not miss breakfast with him by lounging abed.

~~~

It had taken every scrap of willpower John had to get out of that bed. He had been married for four days. He had spent four nights sleeping with Margaret in his arms. However, the situation still hadn't felt right to develop the physical side of their relationship. While staying in Crampton, it had seemed highly irreverent while Mrs. Hale's body rested within the house. Last night Margaret had been distraught from the funeral and somewhat uneasy about the move. But this morning she was so tender and responsive and it finally felt right, natural. Unfortunately, he was needed at the mill shortly. Margaret deserved better than he could give her right now. She deserved tenderness, romance, and his undivided attention. She deserved to fall asleep in her husband's arms after their first time together secure in the knowledge that he would be there when she woke. _Tonight._

When John had finished shaving and re-entered the main chamber from the dressing room, he was surprised to find Margaret awake and dressed in a simple black gown with her hair loosely fastened at her nape. “Shall we go down to breakfast?” She asked, smiling sweetly up at him.

He could not repress a responding smile. “Yes, my love.” He held out his hand to her and briefly brought it to his lips before leading her down to the dining parlor hand in hand. Mother was already seated at the table when they entered and looked significantly at the clock to emphasize his tardiness. They said their good mornings and filled their plates. John was still amazed at her presence by his side. He could gladly spend every morning for the rest of his life looking over his tea cup at his wife, enjoying her bashful smiles, admiring the graceful way she spread jam on toast, basking in her presence. 

His mother cleared her throat reproachfully and asked after the mill and his plans for the day, drawing him away from his study of Margaret's perfection. “As is to be expected, there is a great deal of work to catch up on. I also have a meeting with Higgins and Lattimer today about the Wentworth projects.”

“I should like to be a part of that meeting,” Margaret began, then added quietly under Mrs. Thornton's glare, “... if you do not mind.”

“Of course, my love, these projects are just as much yours as my own. I value your input.” He added with a smirk, “and your intervention with Higgins.” 

Margaret smiled and would have responded, but Mother cut in with: “I don't understand why you should work with a man who is so unpredictable.”

“Actually, Mother, it was _my_ stubborn foolishness that nearly spoiled the deal. Margaret was, thankfully, able to bring me to see reason.” He was spared hearing Mother's reaction to this statement by the clock chiming seven. If only he could whisk Margaret away with him, for he did not doubt Mother's opinion would be expressed to her. “I must go.” He gave his mother the usual buss on her cheek then moved on to Margaret. His kiss to her cheek lingered and he whispered a quick “I love you” into her ear. Pulling back he said in a normal voice, “shall I see you at four in my office then?” She blushed, gave him a small smile and nodded her assent.

He startled Williams with his exuberant entrance into the offices. His employees were not used to seeing their master happy and it caused quite a stir of gossip among the hands. Although his thoughts were more agreeably engaged when he entered the mill, they were soon turned to the cares and troubles of the mill. He had worked through the dinner hour and was sat with his head bent over the accounts when he heard a knock at his office door. Hope surged in his heart that it was Margaret, come for their meeting, but sank again when a police inspector entered.

“Excuse me, sir. There's a man in the Infirmary who is likely to die soon. He was found unconscious beside the road Saturday last. He has never recovered sufficient consciousness to give any distinct account of his fall, although once or twice he has had glimmerings of sense sufficient to make us send for the nearest magistrate, in hopes that you might be able to take down the dying man's deposition of the cause of his death.” The officer informed him and concluded with an expectant look urging John to follow. He sighed, closed the account book and nodded for the inspector to lead, stopping only to inform Williams of his errand.

The hospital, thankfully, was near by. John was surprised when he arrived at the infirmary to find that the dying man was none other than George Leonards. He was rambling about being at sea, and mixing up names of captains and lieutenants in an indistinct manner with those of his fellow porters at the railway; and his last words were a curse on the 'Cornish trick' which had, he said, made him a hundred pounds poorer than he ought to have been. John took down the deposition in trepidation. While the incoherent monologue did not directly reveal Frederick Hale's situation, it was enough to give John pause. 

After the man had died, John took the inspector and the surgeon to the side and inquired whether there was any cause to suspect a violent end other than fevered rantings. The doctor informed him that his demise was caused by some internal complaint, and the man's own habit of drinking but it seemed to be exacerbated by some fall or blow. The inspector informed him that there were no witnesses to the fall, but the other porters reported that he had rushed into the station house just after the afternoon train for London had departed the station on Saturday last with some long story or other about a fall he'd had, swearing awfully; and wanted to borrow some money to go to London by the next up-train.

“Is there any evidence to prove whether this fall was a result of violence or an accident?” John asked gravely.

“None sir, other than his own rantings.” Answered the surgeon.

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, gentlemen, I think it's safe to say there is insufficient evidence to justify an inquest.” His decision was agreed upon by the others and he was free to return to his office.

~~~

Margaret exited the house at quarter to four, unable to bear her mother-in-law's cold silence, her sister-in-law's idle chatter, or her father's bleak expression any longer. Mrs. Thornton had introduced her to the servants that morning and given her a tour of the house, as was her duty. But it was evident that she was fiercely possessive of her power over the household, the daily routine, and the décor of nearly every room. Although Margaret was now mistress of the house in name, she would not gain that role in deed without a battle with her mother-in-law. She was too exhausted and broken with grief at the moment to even consider such a battle.

She quickly made her way across the courtyard and up to John's office. She gently tapped on the door, hoping her husband would not mind her early arrival. He barked: “Enter!” But when she quietly slipped into the room his stern brow dissolved and he smiled at her. “Margaret!” He quickly rose from his desk and enveloped her in an embrace, Margaret sighed as the cares of the weary day rolled off of her. After a moment, he seemed to stiffen and bade her sit down.

“I have news,” he said in a grave voice as he sat in the chair next to her.

Her mind jumped to the worst, “Frederick?” she said in a small, quivering voice, caught in the steely grip of dread.

“No,” he replied, “not directly. Leonards is dead. I was called as a magistrate to take his deposition this afternoon. His story was incoherent to everyone else, but as I had some foreknowledge, it seems as if he saw Frederick as the train was passing through the Outwood station and as he ran after the train he fell off the platform. This fall accelerated his death from an existing illness. There will be no inquest.”

For a moment Margaret could do nothing but sit dumbstruck. How close Frederick had come to danger! What could have happened if they had departed from the Outwood station instead of the Milton station, or if Leonards had hopped on the train? She shivered at the thought. “Margaret, love, are you alright?”

“I am well,” she said softly and shook her head slightly, “It's just … Fred came so close. I am sorry that Leonards died, but I am so relieved that he is no longer a threat to Frederick!”

“I know, I didn't want to distress you but you deserved to know,” he said as he gently rubbed her back, “besides, he was engaged to our cook, Betsy, so you would doubtless have heard about his death regardless.”

“Oh dear, has she been told?”

“I doubt it, I've only just come back from the hospital.”

Margaret's heart broke for the poor girl. He may have been a cad, but no one deserves to lose someone they love. The recent wound of her mother's death re-opened slightly at the thought. “I shall tell her when I return to the house.” At John's startled look, she added: “Whatever our thoughts of the man were, she just lost the man she loves. She deserves better than to hear the news from an impersonal doctor or inspector. She is a member of our household, after all.” 

John lifted her hand to his lips and said reverently, “your purity of heart and compassion never cease to amaze me, my love.” Their eyes met and they began to gravitate towards each other, but the spell was broken by a rough knock on the door. Recalled to their surroundings, John quickly moved behind the desk and yelled, “enter!”

Nicholas walked in from the door to the warehouse and gave them a knowing smile. “Maester, Miss Margaret,” he greeted them, touching his cap. “No, yo'r ne'er Mis. Margaret no more, Mrs. Thornton.” 

Margaret frowned, and at Nicholas's confused look, John responded, “Margaret feels she's being followed by my mother when addressed as Mrs. Thornton, but it would not do for all of the hands to be calling you Margaret.”

Margaret smiled at him. “I suppose we have to figure this out eventually. There's always Mrs. John Thornton or Mrs. John.” It left a bitter taste in her mouth. She did not like having her identity entirely subsumed by her husband's.

“No,” replied John somewhat forcefully. “As we've established, you are not a possession!”

Margaret was both relieved by his assertion and shamed for the horrid things she had accused him of. “ _Mrs._ Margaret then?” Asked Higgins with a smile.

“It is unconventional,” replied Margaret. 

“As are you,” said John with a grin.

“And if anyone is uncomfortable with that, they can just suffer through the whole length of 'Mrs. Margaret Thornton,'” Margaret concluded with a satisfied nod. Mr. Lattimer arrived shortly thereafter and the meeting commenced.

~~~

Betsy moved silently through the kitchens about her work. The whole house was in an uproar over the master's new wife and father-in-law moving in. The new mistress seemed quiet and unassuming, her father seemed to wander around aimlessly in his grief, and that Miss Dixon they brought with them gave herself airs as if she were above them all. Mrs. Thornton seemed to respond to the usurper by tightening the reins even more than her usual dictatorial tendencies. Of course, all of the servants in the house had known that the master would marry Miss Hale from the day of the riot when she shamelessly threw herself at him in full view of all the world. Betsy didn't know if she could trust a woman who could step so far out of her place and act so brazenly. The main gossip at the moment was the odd secrecy and haste of the wedding. If they'd been engaged since the riot, why didn't they tell anyone? If they hadn't, why marry so quickly? To her mortification, these thoughts were interrupted by the new mistress herself.

“Betsy, would you please follow me into the study?” It was a request, spoken in soft tones with her gentle southern accent. It was a glaring contrast to the harsh commands of Mrs. Thornton. Betsy bobbed a curtsy and followed her with trepidation. Surely such a request could not lead to a scolding, or worse being let go? 

“Please sit down,” the mistress swept her arm toward the sofa in front of the fire for all the world as if Betsy was a guest and not merely the cook. Betsy sat and the mistress settled beside her.

“Betsy, I understand you're engaged to a young man by the name of George Leonards, is that correct?” Betsy's heart thudded in her chest. Had Sarah and Hannah been spreading their gossip about him? It was only twice that they had seen the bruises but they were determined to dislike George because of them. They never saw how gentle he was most of the time. Then again, Betsy hadn't heard from George in several days, had something happened to him?

“Yes ma'am,” she replied meekly, unable to suppress the fear. The mistress's eyes softened to a look of sadness.

“I am so sorry,” she began, the pause filling Betsy with dread. “Mr. Thornton was called to the hospital this afternoon as a magistrate to take down his deposition. It seems he had a longstanding internal disease and an excess of drink and a fall on Saturday evening made it worse.”

Betsy started up, “I must go to him!” but the mistress put her hand on Betsy's arm and directed her back to the sofa.

“No, Betsy. I am so sorry, but he did not survive. He passed away this afternoon.” Betsy began trembling, then sobbing. For some time she was insensible to anything other than her own grief. At length, Betsy became aware that the mistress was holding her as she sobbed. Reminding herself of her station despite her grief, she shifted back and apologized for her breech of decorum.

The mistress merely placed her hand on Betsy's shoulder and said, “a good man recently told me that you should never apologize for your grief.” Betsy looked up in astonishment at her employer, taking in the lady's own black mourning attire, her misty, red-rimmed eyes, and the sincere look of worry on her brow. “You should take the rest of the day off, the rest of the week if you like.”

“But Mrs. Thornton … I mean … t'other Mrs. Thornton is quick to remind us that there's always more to take our places.”

“I shall speak with my mother-in-law. But as I have already spoken with my husband, I can safely say you may take as much time as you need without fear of losing your position.” Betsy could scarcely believe that this young lady, wrapped up in her own grief, was willing to brave the dragon's wrath for her. She already felt a deep sense of loyalty towards the new Mrs. Thornton, no matter what her actions were before her marriage or what level of turmoil the house would face. It was not long after Betsy returned to the kitchen to inform the housekeeper and cook of the strange encounter that news of the new mistress's kindness spread through the whole of the staff.

~~~

It was a battle, but Margaret had eventually convinced Dixon to handle dinner for the evening and breakfast in the morning. Having made the transition from ladies maid to maid of all work and back again, Dixon was loathe to return to the household chores she despised now that they were in a grand house with a large staff. But, as none of the other servants had much experience cooking and Dixon was in the proper state of mourning to understand Betsy's grief, she eventually yielded.

It was an even larger battle to convince Mrs. Thornton that allowing Betsy time off to grieve now was not only their moral duty but also the best way to ensure that she wouldn't leave entirely in the long run. Margaret suspected her mother-in-law was more upset about Margaret making decisions about the staff than about giving Betsy the time. Margaret was determined to call on Mary Higgins in the morning to see if she could fill in until Betsy returned in order to keep the peace in the household.

She was drawn out of her rumination on these household concerns by the slight dip in the bed as John joined her. She turned into his warmth and he enfolded her in his arms. “I believe I've become rather spoiled over these past days,” he sighed, “I can't even go a full shift without missing my wife.”

Margaret laughed, “you didn't even go a full shift without _seeing_ your wife, we had a meeting this afternoon.”

“Aye, we'll have to make that a frequent occurrence,” he said as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“You have managed to live thirty-one years of your life without me,” Margaret said playfully.

“Well, there's a difference between living and _living,_ ” he replied and kissed her soundly. “You do know, don't you, how much you've changed my life? I've always been driven, dedicated, hard working, – I am my mother's son – but I had no purpose further than success in itself. I've always taken care of Mother and Fanny, but now it's different. I have someone to come home to. A reason to finish my work at work so that I can enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

“That's an awful lot of pressure to put on one person,” Margaret said timidly, nestling her face into his shoulder. “What if I don't live up to your expectations?”

“Margaret, love, trust me. I know you have your faults, and I'm not putting pressure on you to be or do anything. Did you miss me today?” He asked, with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

“You know I did. I came to your office early because I couldn't bear a longer wait.” His face lit up in a boyish smile of delight.

“That is all I ask of you. To allow me to love you, and for your love in return.”

She reached up her hand to his cheek, “you have that.” He leaned down to kiss her again.

“Now,” he said repositioning himself over her, “this morning I believe we left off about here …”


	15. Changes at Milton

_Marlborough Mills, Monday October 27, 1851_

The remainder of the week passed in a blur of conflicting emotions. Margaret did visit the Higgins family the following day, and engaged Mary to temporarily serve as cook at Marlborough Mills until Betsy returned. While she was there, Boucher's body was carried into the street on a door. He had drowned himself in shame. Both Nicholas and her Father's nerve had failed them and so Margaret was left to break the news to the widow – if one counted Bessy's death, it was the third time in as many months that she had been the bearer of such news to a loved one. Mere days later Mrs. Boucher finally succumbed to her lingering illness and joined her husband, leaving her six children in the care of Nicholas Higgins. The encumbrance of grief was heavy indeed, but Margaret had John's love as an ever-present support. 

Their home life was somewhat of a challenge. Mrs. Thornton was insistent on teaching Margaret the running of the household, though she clearly did so reluctantly. Margaret was placed in the untenable situation of having the nominal title and responsibilities of mistress of the house without the agency to change anything for fear of incurring Mrs. Thornton's wrath. 

Father's spirits were still dreadfully low, and it was difficult to rouse him to any interest. Aid in this quarter came from an unexpected source. On Wednesday evening, John, Mr. Hale, and Margaret were having a lively conversation about Plato and the benefits of philosophy in social reform when Fanny tried to join the conversation with a somewhat trite observation. Mrs. Thornton, already weary of the subject and disdainful of social reform in general, snapped at Fanny for trying to speak on topics she knew nothing about. The following day, Mr. Hale found Fanny curled up in a chair in the library with an English translation of Plato and a crease in her brow. Rather than scolding or teasing her, father sat down and began explaining the finer points of the passage to her. Urged by a combination of defiance to her mother, deference to the kind old man who believed she could comprehend the difficult concepts, and some actual interest in the topic, Fanny decided to continue her study. Thus Mr. Hale gained his newest pupil and a brief distraction from his grief. 

Margaret also fought off the tolls of grief through activity. She took on the task of planning the school, putting her mother's wisdom to use. She spent two days together interviewing potential teachers. She plotted out books, lesson plans, furniture, slate boards – anything she thought might help. She tackled any task that could fall to her to further the project. 

Margaret was therefore in the building slated to become the schoolhouse playing the role of Peggy the maidservant on the following Monday morning. The Wentworth's train was scheduled to arrive at half past three and she was determined to have the space looking as habitable and cheery as she could before she had to go change to receive their visitors. The housemaid had gone to get her fresh soapy watter for cleaning the windows, so when she she heard the door open, she didn't even look up from her task, but just said: “Thank you Hannah. If you could just bring that to me straight away, this bucket is doing no more than streaking...” She trailed off at the sound of a very masculine laugh. Turning slowly she saw John striding into the room followed by the spotless and elegant Lord and Lady Wentworth.

~~~

Anne Wentworth was somewhat weary upon leaving the train station, they had woken frightfully early that morning in order to catch the train. Their solicitor, Mr. Banks, had suddenly found that he was required in London on Tuesday so they had rapidly adjusted their travel schedule so that he could complete his role in Milton in one day. Now that they were walking along the bustling streets of Milton, she felt her spirits rising. To be sure, the weather was cold and the air was affected by the looming smokestacks of the manufactories scattered about the city. However, there was a certain energy about the place, everyone was rushing about their business with a sense of vigor that was often absent in London or in the south. Mr. Banks separated off to find the offices of Mr. Lattimer while Anne and Frederick continued to Marlborough Mills.

Upon arrival, they were led up a narrow staircase – clearly not designed for a lady's petticoats – to Mr. Thornton's office. He received them warmly and gave them a quick tour of the warehouse. The very rooms seemed to be alive with the constant whir of machinery. The air did have quite a bit of eerie white particles floating about that gave the impression of snow. Anne noted with pleasure that unlike snow, there was a distinguishable upward movement of the fluff directed toward the wheel at the top of the room, she could only imagine what the conditions would be without such accommodations. 

As they exited the building and were able to better hear Mr. Thornton's monologue when the door shut on the din of the looms, she caught him say: “I'm afraid we will take Margaret quite by surprise.” _Margaret is it now?_ She thought to herself, this did seem to be nice progress from the disdainful _Miss Hale_ he spat at her at the Great Exhibition. “We have not done much by way of renovation as of yet, but we've plotted out locations and researched cost. This building will be our schoolhouse, Margaret has taken it as her personal charge.”

He opened the door to a good sized room with no furnishings as of yet, but ample windows. Miss Hale was diligently cleaning windows and called out: “Thank you Hannah. If you could just bring that to me straight away, this bucket is doing no more than streaking...” Frederick chuckled until Anne sent him a disapproving look.

Miss Hale wheeled around and exclaimed: “Oh! We were not expecting you until this afternoon...” She ran a nervous hand over her disheveled hair and dress. 

Anne felt horrible for making the poor girl uncomfortable and sought to put her at ease. “I do apologize for bursting in on you early like this, but our solicitor found that he had a pressing engagement tomorrow morning and therefore has to return to London tonight. We took an earlier train to accommodate him.” Lady Wentworth said graciously.

Miss Hale gave an elegant courtesy that was at odds with her rumpled appearance. “Of course, welcome to Milton Lord and Lady Wentworth. It's only … I find myself relating to your story Lady Wentworth, mortified to have the most handsome man – do excuse me Lord Wentworth, two of the most handsome men – walk through the door to find me covered in grime.” Anne laughed and smiled warmly at Frederick.

“And I find myself relating to Wentworth, even the smudges on your cheeks are enchanting my dear,” replied Mr. Thornton. 

“Well, Miss Hale, since we've already established that I approve of active, useful women, and that Anne is not opposed to hard work herself, I'd say there's no need for mortification,” added Frederick.

“I couldn't agree more, Wentworth. However, you are no longer addressing Miss Hale. We were recently married.” John said with an adoring smile towards his wife, which she returned eagerly.

Anne's face lit up at the swift conclusion to her scheme. “My sincere congratulations to you both! I am certain it will be a very happy match.”

Frederick laughed as he extended his hand to John, “congratulations Thornton, you certainly waste no time, do you?”

Mrs. Thornton's face fell. “Unfortunately, we were left with little choice. My mother …” she began, but ended on a small sigh. Mr. Thornton instantly crossed to her and took her hand to comfort her.

“Mrs. Hale's health was rapidly declining upon our return from London. We thought a hasty marriage would be best so that she, and other family who were visiting at the time, could be present. She passed away last Friday.”

Anne's heart bled for the girl, she keenly remembered the pain of losing her own mother as a girl and the more recent pain of Lady Russel's death. “You poor dear, I am so sorry for your loss. Here you are in the midst of your grief and we've got you washing up windows!”

“Oh no! I find that staying useful helps the pain. My mother ran the parish school in Helstone and inundated me with advice last week. Planning the school makes me feel closer to her, like a part of her is still thriving and helping others.”

Anne felt tears pool in her own eyes at the thought and could not resist giving the girl a commiserating hug. “That is exactly what this school shall be, your mother and Lady Russell's legacies living on. I can think of no better way to honor them.” As she pulled back, she laughed slightly at Frederick and Mr. Thornton synchronously passing handkerchiefs to their wives. 

“It would seem that I was somewhat prophetic in suggesting that I direct the projects through _Mrs. Thornton,_ ” Anne said to lighten the mood.

“Oh, we already have a Mrs. Thornton of longstanding, please do call me Mrs. Margaret or simply Margaret if you prefer.” Anne was a bit taken aback by this unconventional mode of address but happily agreed.

“Well then, Margaret, you must call me Anne. Please tell me more about your plans.” Margaret briefly outlined their plans for the school, then they continued on their tour to the building plotted out for the dining hall. On further discussion, it was decided that the space was insufficient for both a kitchen and dining hall, so when construction began, they would expand the building to accommodate both. 

The group then removed to the house for dinner where the senior Mrs. Thornton was an odd combination of solicitude toward her son's investors and defiance against aiding the workers. Anne could see why Margaret wanted to distinguish herself from her stern mother-in-law. 

In the afternoon, they met with Mr. Banks, Mr. Lattimer, and Mr. Higgins at the previously appointed hour. Formal proposals were reviewed, contracts drawn up and signed, and a sum of fifteen thousand pounds invested in Marlborough Mills. Mr. Banks ran off to catch the six o'clock train back to London. Mr. Higgins respectfully took his leave. The remaining party returned to the house to dine together. Anne and Frederick stayed three days at Marlborough Mills helping to set their plans in motion, meeting the community, and enjoying their new friendship with the Thorntons.

~~~

_April 1852_

The investment from the Wentworths was sufficient to pull Marlborough Mills out of the strain put on the mill's finances from the strike and to weather the period of bad trade that persisted the following year. Both the school and the dining hall were a resounding success. Through the odd friendship that developed between Mr. Thornton and Higgins, a greater sense of mutual respect grew between the master of Marlborough Mills and his hands. Many of the laborers had long since had a friendly relationship with 'Miss Margaret', but the hands of Marlborough Mills grew to love and respect 'Mrs. Margaret' even more because of her continued support, empathy, and friendship even in her elevated role. Most days she spent at least an hour or two in the schoolroom helping as she could in the lessons, or merely minding the younger children when the school mistress was busy.

Their domestic felicity did not run as smoothly. As time wore on, Margaret began asserting more control over the household. While she had won the respect of her servants, Mrs. Thornton still held their fear. Mrs. Thornton fought against every alteration to the efficiently run household that Margaret proposed, creating a tense atmosphere. 

Fanny received an offer from a Mr. Watson, a respected manufacturer who was rather well set up. A year prior, Fanny would have happily agreed and gleefully began selecting her trousseau. But Fanny had witnessed John and Margaret's loving marriage and could not imagine finding such felicity with Mr. Watson. He was somewhat gray, rather boisterous, and not at all interested in any of Fanny's thoughts or ideas. She therefore determined to decline his offer and wait to find love. 

Mr. Hale never truly recovered his spirits after his wife's death. The move to Marlborough Mills helped in that he daily enjoyed conversation with Mr. Thornton, grew ever fonder of his lessons with Miss Thornton, and had the joy of seeing Margaret happy and well settled. But in Milton he had the constant reminder of his wife's last illness and his perceived role in it. Therefore, when an invitation from Mr. Bell for a proposed reunion of their Oxford friends arrived in April, Margaret and John urged him to take it. Without the constant strain of her father's grief and pain, Margaret's spirits rose. She had just begun incorporating the purples, blues, and grays of half-mourning into her wardrobe six months after her mother's death when Mr. Bell arrived with the news. Her father had died peacefully in his sleep. 

Margaret again was driven into deep mourning. John again became her rock. He accompanied her to Oxford for the funeral. He held her while she cried. He loved her and she drew strength from that love. As her role in the planning and efficient running of the school was minimal now, she sought for some other project to throw herself into. Desperate to help his wife, and eager to spend more time with her when she needed him, he taught her how to manage the ledgers for the mill. She quickly excelled at this new task and they even placed a small desk for her in his office.

~~~

_August 1852_

It began as a typical day. Margaret arose early to take breakfast with John. After breakfast, she spent two hours going over the household budgets, speaking with Betsy about the menu for dinner, and tending to various household chores. She then went to John's office to pour over the mill's ledgers. They shared a light dinner from a basket she had brought from the kitchens before John had to return to work. Upon returning to the house, however, the course of Margaret's day veered.

She entered the parlor, intending to sit with Mrs. Thornton and Fanny for a while and work on the mending before making her visit to the schoolhouse, but drew up short at the sight of a visitor. “Oh, Mr. Bell! I never thought of seeing you!”

“But you give me a welcome, I hope, as well as that very pretty start of surprise,” he teased.

“Of course you are always welcome! What brings you to Milton?”

“Why, does a man need any more impetus than to see his god-daughter?” He asked in his good-natured teasing tone, “you are all the attraction I could need.” 

Mrs. Thornton cleared her throat in disapproval of Mr. Bell's idle flirtation. Margaret looked uneasily at her and turned the course of the conversation. “Have you just come from Oxford?”

“Actually, I've just come from London.”

“London?” Fanny perked up at the mention of the metropolis, “Have you been to the theater? Any concerts?” 

Mr. Bell indulged Fanny with some witty observations on his recent journey before turning back to Margaret. “Margaret, my dear, would you be so kind as to escort me to your husband's office?”

“Of course,” she replied and stood with him. As soon as they were out of hearing of the parlor, she asked, “I hope you're not worried about Marlborough Mills?”

“No, no, my dear, nothing like that. But there will be some … changes to the lease that I must speak to you and Thornton about.” Their walk across the square continued in relative silence, broken only by Margaret's greetings to the workers.

John greeted Mr. Bell cautiously, obviously curious as to what brought this unexpected visit from his landlord. Mr. Bell led Margaret to a chair and sat beside her in front of John's desk. After a very few minutes of pleasantries, Margaret could no longer contain her curiosity. “Mr. Bell, you said there would be changes to the lease?”

“Indeed my dear, soon this property will be changing hands … to my heir.” 

Margaret gasped, catching the subtext of his speech. “Oh, Mr. Bell,” she said with the sad, numb feeling of a person well acquainted with grief and clasped his hand.

“Yes, I'm afraid my visit to London was not just to visit the theaters and report back to Miss Thornton, I also saw my doctor.”

“I'm sorry,” John said somberly.

“Well, I have the benefit of settling my affairs to my liking. So, I plan to sign over the bulk of my wealth and properties to my god-daughter.”

“No!” Margaret said in quiet indignation, “I can not, I will not!”

“Yes, you will,” he replied in an indulgent tone. “You may rightly wonder what right the old man has to settle your affairs for you so cavalierly? I make no doubt you have. Yet the old man has a right. He loved your father for five and thirty years; he stood beside him on his wedding-day; he closed his eyes in death. Moreover, he is your godfather; and as he cannot do you much good spiritually, having a hidden consciousness of your superiority in such things, he would fain do you the poor good of endowing you materially. And the old man has not a known relation on earth; "who is there to mourn for Adam Bell?" and his whole heart is set and bent upon this one thing, and Margaret Hale – excuse me, Margaret Thornton – is not the girl to say him nay.”

“No,” Margaret said quietly, willing away the tears, “Margaret Thornton is not the girl to say him nay.”

“Good, that's my pearl.” He said, squeezing her hand gently. “Now, I've heard my little revolutionary has made her mark all over Marlborough Mills, would you care to show me your projects?” Margaret laughed and accepted his arm.

Turning to John, Mr. Bell said, “my Milton attorney will be by at half past three to manage the settlements if that is acceptable?” At John's nod, he added, “Excellent, Margaret can show me around a bit and we will be back by then.”

Margaret proudly showed him around the dining hall and introduced him to Mary Higgins – who had proven herself such a good cook that they hired her straight away for the dining hall once Betsy had returned to her post. They stayed quite some time in the school room, where both Margaret and Mr. Bell happily aided in the lessons – though they were far more basic than Mr. Bell was accustomed to at Oxford. As they exited the school house, Mr. Bell commented, “It's a fine school you've made there Margaret, your father and mother would be proud.”

“Thank you, I like to think they would be.”

“It does seem a touch overcrowded though.”

“Yes, we had no idea it would be so successful when we started it. We've got so many pupils now that the single teacher and single outbuilding we've got are hardly sufficient. But, we must make do.”

“Must you? I do have several other properties in Milton, you know. You could move the school to a larger building and hire more teachers,” he said, adding in a teasing tone, “now that you are a wealthy heiress.”

“I suppose I haven't had the time to think on it.” She said, rapidly turning the idea over. Now that they wouldn't have to pay rent, that would open a significant amount of the Mill's budget up as well.

“We still have half an hour before the lawyer gets here, I have a lovely property not a quarter mile from here if you care to see it,” offered Mr. Bell.

~~~

John had kept a keen eye on Margaret through dinner that evening. Mr. Bell had stayed, of course, knowing that few people could arrange an impromptu dinner for guests with the flair of Mrs. Thornton. Mr. Bell had been his usual sardonic self. Fanny was excited to have another person at table to chatter with and was largely unaware of the barbs their guest threw her way. Mother was equal parts relieved at the security the inheritance would bring them and annoyed that it had come to Margaret rather than directly to John. He made all of these observations, yet his primary concern was his wife. He had been around her in her grief long enough to know when she was forcing cheerfulness.

She had been through so much over the last year, almost an unbearable amount. It was nearly two years since she came to Milton, grieving over the loss of her garden paradise of Helstone. It was just over a year since the riot at Marlborough Mills. A year since he held her in his arms and realized the depth of his own feelings. A year since she discovered the severity of her mother's illness. A year since her friend Bessy Higgins had died. Ten months had passed since the fateful trip to London, their marriage, and the tragedy of her mother's death. Only four months had passed since they'd lost her father. Henry Lennox had written to inform them that he could find none of the witnesses to speak on Frederick's behalf, that there was nothing more he could do. She feared that she would never see her brother again. And now Mr. Bell, her god-father, would depart as well. It was far more grief than any twenty-year-old should have to bear. 

As Margaret was both John and Mr. Bell's primary concern, the gentlemen did not separate from the ladies after dinner. Conversation in the parlor was more lively than usual, Mr. Bell was always keen to talk, Margaret was eager to engage him in conversation, and Mother was more apt to talk with company present. Fanny cajoled Margaret into playing a duet with her on the piano which was lovely and well received. Overall it was a pleasant evening.

As soon as he closed the door of their bedchamber when they retired he pulled Margaret into his arms and she began crying. He knew his wife, he knew that she had been holding this emotion in all day. After several minutes she settled down. “I've just lost so many people.”

“I know love,” he said as he stroked her back.

Margaret's eyes pooled again, “Mr. Bell was rather impressed with the school house today. He even tried going into more philosophical lessons with some of the older pupils. But he noted that the pupils already exceed the space of the school house. He suggested that we expand it. I feel so guilty inheriting his fortune, it feels like we're profiting from a good man's death. At least this way we can put his fortune to good use.”

“Aye, I think that's a good use of the inheritance.

“John,” she said softly, a hint of doubt creeping into her voice, “Mr. Bell owns … _I_ now own several properties in Milton. He took me to see a house today that is not more than a quarter mile from here, a fifteen minute walk at a brisk pace. It is quite as large as this house, though not as ostentatious, and it is far quieter. It even has a little garden in back.” 

“It sounds like a good location for the children,” he responded, open to her plans for expansion.

“It sounds like a good place to live...” Margaret added shyly.

Her meaning slowly dawned on him. He had never thought of moving, but he could see how Margaret may wish to. Mother had yet to give up the reigns to this house, and it would conceivably always remain _her_ house.Even this room, which Margaret had transformed from the dreary and spartan bachelor's rooms into a comfortable and inviting space with her possessions and decorations, still featured dark, masculine papers and furniture.“You mean for us?” “Exactly,” she said, timidly, “then we could move the school into the main house here and it would still be conveniently located for our hands to drop their children off. With that amount of space, we could hire more teachers and take on more pupils. Without having to worry about rent, the mill will have more disposable income, and I'll have my own money to invest as well.”

“Mother won't like having her house over run by the children of laborers.”

“Your mother doesn't approve of anything I do,” she countered. “What do _you_ think of the idea?”

“I think I want my wife to be comfortable in her own home,” he said kissing the top of her head. “I think we have more children than we have stools in the school house. I think we've already seen a number of skilled workers apply here from other mills since we've introduced the school and dining hall, so the scheme has been profitable. I think expanding the school sounds like a good idea. Perhaps we could even offer some more advanced classes to children who are able to remain enrolled after they're old enough to work. I can think of no better legacy for the great Oxford academic from Milton than to bring better education to his native city.”

“Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“Now, would you like me to call Dixon, or shall I help you?” He asked as he ran his hand up and down her arm. 

“I don't have the energy to see anyone other than you tonight, if you don't mind playing ladies maid.”

John smiled and happily obliged. He loved that she still turned to him when she didn't have the energy to face anyone else. He slowly began unbuttoning her gown, allowing his hands to linger now as he had been unable to do on their wedding night. This had become a familiar dance, reserved for days when his wife needed the most care. When she was divested of her clothing, he led her to the vanity and began slowly removing the pins from her hair, then gently stroking the brush through her hair. He knelt beside her to plait her hair and tie it off. She lowered her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Some time later, they lie in bed entangled in each other's arms. Margaret's soft voice broke into his blissful haze. “Do you think that you will brush our daughter's hair like that some day?”

He thought about the whole of the ritual they just performed and laughed, “not _quite_ like that, but yes, I imagine I will.” Her tinkling laughter washed over him.

“I remember on our wedding night, the first thought that broke through my shock and sorrow was that you would make a rather good father some day. I envisioned you caring for little Fanny and the picture suddenly morphed into our own daughter, seated at my mother's vanity while you plaited her hair. I look forward to seeing that reality.”

“Well I, for one, am quite willing to keep trying until that vision is a reality,” he replied lightheartedly, leaning in for another kiss. Instead of raising her face to his, however, she burrowed it further into his neck. A gesture of emotional embarrassment he hadn't seen in recent months.

“There's no need for 'trying' … that's already done.”

He heard his heart pound fast in his ears. “Margaret!” he called, and raised her face to look into those magnificent eyes. “Margaret are you …?”

She smiled, “Dr. Donaldson confirmed it yesterday, but he said it was too early to be telling anyone.” 

“Oh my Margaret!” He cried, his heart expanding with love and joy. As he soundly kissed her, his hand traveled down to rest on her abdomen. 

“It seems our joys are always to be paired with sorrows,” he said softly, recalling the events of the day.

“I prefer to see it more optimistically, the burden of our sorrows seems always to be lifted by our joys.” She rose up on her arm and leaned in to kiss him.

### The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Hey readers, I hope you enjoyed my story. It started as a quick one-off _North & South_ _Persuasion_ bit of fluff, but then it kinda got out of control and turned into a lovely story about positive support structures through grief (why can't fiction have healthy relationships?). 
> 
> I've been thinking that it'd be a shame to have Frederick Wentworth as an acquaintance of the Hales & Thorntons and not have him help out Frederick Hale from his mutiny case. But, I keep getting caught up on whether there would even be anything within the bounds of Navy structure that would allow him to help. Would he just condemn Frederick Hale as a traitor & mutineer? Maybe there's inside information or rumors about Captain Reed's later behavior that Henry Lennox just doesn't know about but Frederick Wentworth does? I'm considering adding this on as another chapter or epilogue if I can sort it out, please let me know in the comments if you have any ideas about this.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Chapter 15 overall was a bit sloppy to end on, so I added this fluffy epilogue. Enjoy!

### Epilogue

_October 17, 1852_

Margaret sat patiently at her vanity as Dixon again created an elaborate style for her hair. The cheerful yellow papers of the room glowed with the late afternoon sun and she could see a glimpse of the garden below. In her altogether biased opinion, their new home was the most wonderfully serene place in the whole of Milton. It contained the very best of the charm of the Helstone parsonage, the elegance of Harley Street, and the practicality of Marlborough Mills with just a touch of Mrs. Thornton's splendor. 

Mrs. Thornton – Hannah – had not been enthusiastic about the move, but news of the grandchild soothed her furrowed brow and elicited the first real smile from the stern woman that Margaret had ever seen. John and Margaret steadily campaigned for the move, even bringing in Dr. Donaldson's expertise to assure her that some distance from the noise and bustle of the mill would be healthier for the child, and a garden a far more suitable play area than a mill yard. They eventually won her reluctant consent and had moved in the month prior after some minor improvements and redecoration.

Margaret's relationship with Hannah had improved over the course of her pregnancy thus far. John had been overly anxious about her health and whenever he was absent, Hannah had been nearly as solicitous. Having been through the process herself, she was eager to impart the wisdom of her experiences on Margaret. True, her ministrations were devoid of the tenderness her own mother would have shown on such an occasion, yet Margaret understood that it was not in her mother-in-law's nature to show her affection. 

In spite of this increased amiability, there was one point on which Hannah was adamant. She had agreed to the hasty wedding ceremony with the belief that they would host a dinner in honor of the marriage. Following Mrs. Hale's death, Margaret and John had delayed, focusing on Mr. Hale's condition, the mill, and their social experiments. They had just begun planning the dinner for after Mr. Hale's return from Oxford when news of his death had arrived and Margaret was plunged back into deep mourning. Hannah had argued emphatically for the dinner to be held now, on their anniversary. While Margaret was still in mourning for her father and Mr. Bell – who had sadly lived only weeks after his trip to Milton – she was now easing int half-mourning. They could not put the dinner off another six months as Margaret would then be in confinement for the babe. 

Margaret owned to some trepidation on the occasion. Outside of morning calls, business meetings, and the occasional afternoon tea, Margaret had, quite properly, avoided society while she was in deep mourning. This would be her first real social event as Mrs. John Thornton – for she held no doubt that unlike the laborers, Milton _society_ would see her as an extension of her husband. Would they accept her? Would she be an embarrassment? She ran her hands over her gray silk evening gown, bringing them to rest over her slightly swollen abdomen. Had they put the dinner off any longer, her delicate condition would be obvious to all, but luckily the voluminous dress concealed her condition for the most part. She was not unaware of the rumors that had run rampant about their hasty marriage and the speculation as to their reason for such unseemly haste. Although the Milton gossips had waited anxiously for evidence that she and John had anticipated their vows, none had presented itself. On that score, Margaret was relieved that on her first anniversary she found herself merely three months into her pregnancy. 

The soft click of the latch from the dressing room heralded John's arrival just as Dixon was placing the final black jet comb in her hair. Dixon quietly took a step back and Margaret turned to greet him with a smile.

~~~

“Margaret are...” John's question died on his lips as he entered their bedchamber. Margaret was haloed in the soft glow of the dying afternoon sunlight, half turned from her vanity to greet him with her hands lightly resting over their unborn child. Her beauty took his breath away. If Dixon were not in the room and they did not have half of Milton society imminently expected …

“How is it that you manage to look more beautiful every time I see you?” She blushed and shifted her eyes to her lap, somehow only enhancing her beauty. He gravitated towards her. “If I had any confidence that photography could capture even half of your beauty, I would have your portrait taken just as you are now.”

“Dixon has prevailed in transforming me into a fine lady once more.” Margaret demurred. The ladies maid, who had been discretely moving toward the door, stopped at this praise.

“Your appearance this evening is highly to Miss Dixon's credit I am sure,” he said with a grateful nod to the servant, “but your ethereal beauty is yours alone.” Miss Dixon gave something between a nod of agreement and an insulted huff as she turned to leave the room. Closing the gap between him and his wife he leaned down to kiss her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and as they separated it slipped down to his chest, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in his lapel. 

“You are looking rather dashing yourself tonight John,” she replied fondly before returning her focus to her vanity to attach her earbobs. 

“Well, I must make some effort to polish off my Milton dust when escorting such a lady as you to a party.” He said it lightly, but it did touch on real fears. This would be their first social appearance, they had proven themselves an equal pair in their daily lives, but she was far his superior in society. He had the irrational fear that people would suddenly realize how unequal their marriage was, how crass and brutish he was in the face of her grace and refinement. 

“Nonsense,” she laughed, “you know very well that in tonight's company I will be seen as the interloper. I shall have to contend with all of the disappointed young ladies and their mothers who cannot conceive how you – the handsomest, most eligible catch in Milton – came to marry a foreigner like me.” 

He smiled at her, insecurities rarely shone through in his regal determined Margaret and it was somewhat endearing that her fears were so close to his own. He met her eyes in the mirror. “And yet with all of their attentions none of them ever managed to touch my heart. You flounced in and gave me one imperious glance and I was lost.” He bent down to press a reverent kiss to the creamy expanse of shoulder bared by her gown – a truly lovely aspect of evening gowns. Aware of their time constraints – but ever hopeful of a slight reprieve – he consulted his watch and sighed at the advanced hour. “Are you nearly ready love? Guests will be arriving in about a half hour, but Mother requires your presence.”

“I am ready,” she said with one last glance at her reflection, “although I don't know that it is in my power to be truly prepared for our first dinner party.”

“Shall we face the lions together?” He said as he extended his hand to help her up.

“Always,” she said, placing her hand in his.

~~~

Margaret found that armed with all of the love, happiness, and equality of her marriage, she was able to bear the thinly veiled envy and malice of her peers tolerably well. Dinner had yet to be announced but most of the party had arrived and were milling about the parlor. She had high hopes for the success of the evening. She had endeavored to merge Hannah's opulence with her own understated elegance and was rather pleased thus far with the result. Margaret stood at a short distance watching Fanny flirt with a handsome young banker. He was perhaps not as well set up as Fanny or her mother would have wished, but he had all of the benefits of youth, charm, and potential to recommend him. It would be a far more suitable match in Margaret's opinion than that proposed by Mr. Watson, who was far more interested in being pleased by a young lady than in pleasing her. Margaret blushed at exactly how pleasing a truly loving husband could be.

Just then she looked up and caught the appreciative gazes of her husband and Mr. Horsfall. She heard just the end of what Mr. Horsfall was saying to John: “so quiet, so stately, and so beautiful.” Given where their attention landed, Margaret could have no doubt that the comment referred to her. She blushed and smiled and as soon as her eyes locked with John's he rather rudely walked away from his companion and drew near to her. 

Feeling a decided similarity to events at a former dinner party, and struck by an impish desire to tease, she decided to play out the rest of the scene. She boldly held out her hand to him and when he took it she clasped her other hand around his. “See, I am learning Milton ways Mr. Thornton.” She said with an arch smile. For a moment he merely responded with a smoldering look then his smile slowly grew. 

He broke their reenactment by lifting her hand to his lips and placing a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “And I am learning London ways, Mrs. Thornton,” he said with a roguish smile. “And unlike last year, nobody will tear me away from your side tonight.”

“Well, I can't guarantee that we won't be separated at all, but I do anticipate a great number of pleasant changes from your last dinner party.”

“Particularly the way the evening ends,” he said, reviving the smoldering look. Margaret blushed and averted her eyes. She had yet to recover when the Slicksons approached a moment later to make their formal congratulations, but by the time dinner was announced she had regained enough composure to lead the company in to the meal.

## The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this crossover story, I had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> I decided that I don't know enough about the Victorian Royal Navy, mutinies, and court martials to commit to Frederick Wentworth helping Frederick Hale at this time and I don't have time to do the research at present. So, there may be a sequel to this story exploring that. If you have any ideas about this scenario, please let me know in the comments.


End file.
